Ezreal: Home at Last
by vOceanic
Summary: After being ripped from his home in Piltover, Ezreal decides to join the rest of the Champions at the League headquarters. While there, he discovers that he no longer has to be lonely, as he forms a wide variety of relationships with the champions around him, ranging from friendship to romance to rivalry. Perhaps the League isn't so bad after all...
1. The Institute

In walked a lithe young man, faded blue jeans clinging to his skinny hips. His blonde hair was a ruffled mess. Beneath his heartbreakingly blue eyes were two smudged, red triangles - obviously warpaint of some kind. And perched on his head were a pair of goggles.

The crowd in the Mess Hall fell silent. There was a sharp clang when someone dropped their plate.

Then one of the Summoners cried out, "Ezreal? Is that you?"

The boy cast his eyes over the crowd, meeting the gaze of people who he had faced often on the battlefield, but never even spoken a word to. He recognized some of them. The woman with nine fox tails casually curling around her feet. The redheaded quickdraw; the brown haired sheriff of Piltover. It was like walking into a dream.

He was struck by hundreds of memories of killing these people, being killed by them, assisting them.

And in many cases, he had bested them. As he looked around, the crowd slowly returned to their earlier state, though the chatter was more muted.

The Summoner who had spoken rushed over to him and clapped him on the shoulder. He was a balding man dressed in flowing purple robes, and had piercing violet eyes.

"It really is you."

"Yes, I am Ezreal." He blinked several times. "I didn't realize how...real...this place would be."

"What do you mean?"

"I've seen these people so many times. I've watched them die and fight and now - now they're all just relaxing."

"It's part of the rules of the League. Oh! Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Zandred. I'm one of the top Summoners of the League."

"Pleased to meet you." Still Ezreal's eyes scanned the crowd. The blinking blue light on his glove fluttered uneasily, responding to his emotions. At any moment, he expected the champions to attack.

"They won't attack you, Ezreal. It's one of the rules, like I said. Everyone - even mortal enemies - is friends - or at least acquaintances - here. But enough about that. What brings you to Runeterra? It's a great honor to have one of our top warriors stop by at last."

"I've come to join the League full time. To join the other champions in living here."

"Why is that?"

"I've been summoned so frequently that there's no point in remaining in Piltover."

Zandred's eyes lit up. "Ahhh. Yes. Your win rate is quite high. You're one of the most sought after champions, in fact, used generally to fight for the highest cause."

Ezreal bowed his head. "I've realized this and thought the prudent thing was to move here."

"I can arrange that. Let me talk with the quartersmaster, to see where you may be able to stay." Zandred bowed from the waist and hurried away, leaving Ezreal standing near the double doors. And leaving him alone.

With a tiny swallow, Ezreal headed towards the two buffet bars, grabbing a plate. The Summoners sure didn't skimp. The two bars were bedecked with plump, colorful fruits and meats doused with exotic spices, as well as pastries and currants of all kinds. He grabbed two muffins and a glass of orange juice and looked for people to sit with.

Some champions he didn't even recognize, his encounters with them were so infrequent. There was a giant purple insect rapidly slurping away at a pile of sludge. Next to him, a small, dog-like alien contentedly picked his nose with a tiny claw. Ezreal shuddered from memories of that same alien's poison eating away at his flesh.

He passed over the table that obviously belonged to Noxus. He knew the names and faces and battle tactics of the people there. Swain. Darius. Katarina.

Definitely not people he wanted to be allied with.

The Freljordians gave him a nasty look as he walked by, most notably their warrior princess Ashe. He had bested her many, many times.

At last his eyes rested on a haven.

At a small table nestled in the back corner sat the friendliest looking people in the League. Ezreal recognized each of them, as they often laned with him. _I don't even know their names_, he thought. _There's never any time to talk._

A purple humanoid unicorn leaned forward intently, biting into a starfruit. Next to her coiled a mermaid with glittering gold and blue scales. Across from her, a small yordle sat on a booster seat, occasionally feeding bits of butter to the glittering insect flitting around her. Next to her sat the mute champion. She looked strange without her huge harp-like instrument in front of her, Ezreal thought. _I guess I'm really not going to get attacked. _

"S'cuse me," a man behind him said. "Care to sit down with us?"

Ezreal whirled, spilling a little orange juice. The man's voice was deep and soothing. His hair was black and his eyes were a radiant green. "Well, if it isn't the great and powerful Ezreal. Look, ladies." The man sat his tray down. "You recognize me, don't you?"

"Y-yes. But I don't know any of your names -"

"Because you've been being summoned against your will. Well, I'm Taric. The unicorn is Soraka."

"Greetings, child."

"The woman in the flowing dress is Sona-" Sona obligingly lifted a small hand, smiling warmly. "The yordle is Lulu, and this is our newest addition, Nami, the Tidecaller."

"Hi, Ezreal." Nami beamed at him.

"I've fought with all of you before," Ezreal mused."You all are usually in lane with me."

Taric gestured for him to sit down, and he did so. "We're all supports for the carry - which happens to be you, in most cases."

Ezreal swallowed again, trying to wrap his brain around the strangeness of the situation. "So...you Guys are in the League only to heal and support people?"

"Well, sometimes we step outside of our role." Taric shrugged. "Soraka used to be a pretty good jungler."

"Taric's an okay top sometimes," Soraka added with raised eyebrows. "And I remember Nami being in mid lane for a while."

"But other than that," Nami said with a swish of her tail, "Yes, we heal and support."

Ezreal took a small bite of his muffin. Rich, fruity, delicious. It seemed to melt on his tongue. "The Summoners - they're really generous, aren't they?"

"Pffft. Wait until you see the rooms." Taric downed his glass of juice.

Sona nodded, and, pulling out a small pad of paper, scratched a quick note to Ez. _If you come to the Support Quadrant, some of the rooms have hottubs._

"But – how does this work? Will they let me do that? I'm a carry."

Lulu snorted. "You've been one of the best for a long, long time, child. I figure they'll let you do whatever you want, now that they have you."

_I don't really like the sound of that_, Ez thought. _Have me. Like they own me_. He shook his head. "Do I get paid for this?"

Taric frowned. "What do you want to get paid in?"

"I - I don't know. It seems sort of directionless. Is there any point to fighting?"

The supports took a deep breath and looked at one another. Taric leaned forward and clasped Ezreal's thin shoulder. "Ez. Do you know anything about the League?"

"I know that they keep snatching me out of exploring to come kill people."

"Think of us like avatars. What we do is prevent nations from going to war. We're here to settle conflicts. We're like - I don't know - "

"Fighting diplomats," finished Soraka. She brushed a lock of golden hair from Ezreal's face. Her hand was cool and soothing; Ezreal realized his skin was flushed. "It's a tough job, but we must do it to preserve Runeterra. And so we do."

_But you guys wanted to join the League and I didn't._ Ezreal grimaced. _I might as well get used to it. They've been pulling me away against my will for years now. It's not going to change any time soon. _

He was about to say as much when Zandred tapped him on the shoulder. A woman dressed in identical robes accompanied him. She was easily six feet tall. Her high cheekbones defined her face, and her long blonde hair fell in a rippling cascade to her shoulders, offsetting her brilliant blue eyes.

"Ezreal," she said warmly. He stood up shakily and shook her hand.

"I am Merilyn, another Summoner who works at the League. It is a pleasure to meet you at last." To Ez's embarrassment, she bowed to him. His face grew even hotter as he awkwardly bowed back. "You are welcome to stay here. While you fight for us, your food, room and board will be covered. Most any wish you have will be fulfilled. You should also know that you have joined an extraordinarily selective group, an elite group of champions." Merrill's voice echoed throughout the dining hall. More than a few other champions were staring, some snarling, some smirking. Ez tried desperately to ignore them. "Do you accept our offer, Ezreal of Piltover?"

Ez blinked. Then he cleared his throat and tried to say "I do." What came out was, "I've been fighting for you for years. It's time for payback. Yes, I accept."

Marilyn clapped him on the shoulder, sending him stumbling backwards. "I like the fighting spirit in you. You'll need a lot of it for the days to come." She lowered her voice at last, and the dining-hall noise picked up again. "Zandred will see to your needs. Farewell." She glided off to join her fellow Summoners in their dining hall, leaving Ezreal to stare after her.

Zandred tapped him. "So, Ezreal. Let's get down to business. Who would you like to stay with? I know you're from Piltover, but do you have any other alliances? Demacian? Zuanian?...Noxian?"

"I'd like to stay with the supports, please."

Zandred's tufted eyebrows shot up. "Really? You don't wish to train and compete with the other carries? There are quite a few clustered around the Piltover/Freljordian area. They like to spar."

"No, thank you." _I fight enough._ "I think the company of the Supports would be best for my health." Zandred shot Taric a strange look, but bowed.

"As you wish. Follow me, please."

Ez turned around. "You guys coming?"

"Go get comfy," Soraka said, twirling a small banana between her fingers. "We'll be with you eventually."

Ez shrugged. He tried to stand up straight and square his shoulders as he marched back by the other champions from League. But he wished he had the Supports to protect him from the sneers and rude looks that followed him through the Dining Hall Door.

Regardless of his muddled feelings about the League, Ezreal knew one thing for sure: the grounds around the buildings were gorgeous. Jewel-toned flowers soaked up the sunlight. As he and Zandred headed towards the building for Supports, huge, old trees shaded their paths. In front of the Third Dormitory, where the Supports were housed, stood a glittering marble fountain in the shape of a giant hooded Summoner. The water trickled down its robes, splashing playfully into a square basin.

Ez whistled. "Nice digs."

"Upgrade from Piltover, eh?"

"I haven't spent much time there recently. Between exploring and being caught up here."

"True, true. Maybe when you retire from the League, you'll find new places to check out."

"You guys have a library?"

"We do." Zandred bowed his head. "It's full of ancient books. Probably the sort of thing you're into."

Ez smiled slightly. The idea of thousands of weathered old pages pleased him. Maybe he would have some downtime to sit by the fountain and flip through them. Maybe with some of the good food from the buffet.

"Do you guys have room service?"

Zandred snorted. "We can, though we recommend you meet with other champions."

"I noticed that most of the champs sat with people they were allied with."

"And?"

"I'm not allied with anyone."

Zandred looked surprised. "Really? Perhaps that will change."

"I doubt it...I'm kind of a loner." _And lonely_, Ezreal thought. He stroked the blue light on his glove. The loneliness was part of what drove him to seek the League out at last. That, and the increasing amount of time he was summoned. Sometimes it seemed he were in Hell.

Zandred broke through his reverie. "Do you mind having a roommate?"

"Mm? No, not terribly. Depends on who it is."

"The only person without a roommate right now...let me check." From the folds of his robes Zandred pulled a small notebook, flipping through it rapidly. "Ah. Michael."

"Who?"

"He's not a champion, but he's close to being one."

"Can I meet him first?" _God forbid I get roomed with someone evil like Katarina or someone like Tryndamere._

"He's generally out this time of day - heaven knows where. But if you don't like him, don't worry. We'll figure something out. Here we are." Zandred swished up a flight of marble stairs. Ezreal's tired legs led to him imagining he were at the top of them and he appeared next to Zandred in a flash of sparkling gold. A few stray sparks fell to the ground.

"Wha - No powers! That would break the truce in no time!" Zandred hissed. His purple eyes blazed as he threw himself in front of Ezreal and spread his arms, hoping no one had seen.

"Huh?"

"You can't use magic when you're not on Summoner's Rift."

"Are you serious?" Ezreal's tired blue eyes grew even more overcast. His shoulders slumped. "Magic...I use it all the time. Sometimes I can't help it."

"If the other champions ever see you use it, they'll probably respond accordingly."

"And what?" Ezreal threw his head back and laughed. "And they get hurt?"

Zandred shook his head. "The injuries here are permanent. Not like on the Rift. If you burn someone's hand off here, it stays gone."

"...Oh."

"Can you see why that might be a problem when we have both Demacians and Noxians in the same room, hm? One false move and suddenly the master tactician of Noxus is gone. Another false move, and the sheriff of Piltover is blown away."

"How do you keep them from killing one another?"

Zandred started to answer, then thought better of it. He liked Ezreal. It was hard not to, with his glittering blue eyes, his golden hair, his jaunty "who gives a shit" attitude. He was so different from the other Champions that were almost...pretentious. Still, no one knew Ezreal that well. And it wouldn't do good to tell him just how the Summoners kept people from killing one another.

He was a powerful young man. A powerful young man with unguessable motives.

"How do we do it? That's for us to know and you to not worry about, my good man."

Ezreal shrugged. "As long as they don't come after me, I'm fine."

"Good. Let's go in, shall we?"

The double doors led to a spacious hallway supported by pillars. "I noticed you guys like marble," Ez commented. He looked at the ceiling. It was covered with a fleur-de-lis design in blue and black. Luscious rugs covered the floor. Redwood doors led off the hallway. A large, carved statue stood in the middle, engraved with the words "The Void." Examining it, Ezreal could make out a pattern of tiny carved skulls, almost invisible to the naked eye. Only his years of training in examining artifacts allowed him to see them.

"You keep the creatures from the Void next to the Supports?"

"Only the Supports are patient and kind enough to deal with the troubled souls from the Void. It works out quite well, actually. I've even seen Soraka leading Kog'Maw around on a leash."

Ez snickered. "That's funny."

"Viktor stays over here too. He and Kassadin get on quite well."

"Who is Viktor? An almost-champ like Darian?"

Zandred had to muffle a laugh. "No, he's a champion. Not a very busy one, though."

"Ah."

Zandred led Ezreal to another pair of double doors. These ones were carved with intricate scrolling, and the Latin words "Tranquillitas. Veritas. Amamus."

"Peace, Truth, Love," Ezreal mused to himself. "Truth is an interesting word choice."

"I don't blame you for wanting to stay with the Supports," Zandred confessed. "They are some of the kindest people I've met." He pushed open the doors, and Ezreal's eyes widened.

He felt as if he were stepping into a forest on a warm spring day. A tree grew in the middle of the room, its large branches reaching towards the sun. A few flowers bloomed around it, and a massive window revealed a pavilion right outside the hall. _Screw the statue_, Ezreal thought. _THAT'S where I'm going to be reading. _

"Do the rooms really come with hottubs?" Ezreal asked when he could talk again.

"They do. Also, there's an indoor pool through that door," Zandred said, gesturing to Ezreal's right. "Your room will be right this way." He and Ezreal passed beneath the enormous tree. A small leaf fell into Ezreal's hair, and he brushed it out, eyes still wide with wonder.


	2. Know Your Environment

N.B. Hello, and thanks for reading! I appreciate all the positive reviews I've already gotten.

I'll apologize upfront for the inconsistent publishing schedule, as well as the potentially-low quality of the writing. Though I'm glad you guys are enjoying it, I'm not a creative writer by any means, and this is basically therapeutic. I guess what I'm trying to say is, I'm so happy you guys like it, and I'm sorry if I mess up!

Zandred flung the door to Ezreal's room open.

To the right, a few steps down, was the huge hottub the supports had promised. The wall next to it boasted a tiny waterfall, continually rushing from the ceiling to the tub itself. A smaller door next to it led to a private bathroom.

The walls were mint green and chocolate brown, pleasing to the eye. Delicate carved flowers hung around the ceiling.

And the bed to Ezreal's left was spacious enough for four people, covered in fluffy white blankets and inviting pillows. Next to that, a night stand. An open book - the only evidence of Michael's habitation thus far - rested on it. Ezreal squinted and made out the title: _History of the Institute of Justice. _

"Like it?" Zandred seemed amused by Ezreal's gaping mouth.

"This is my room?"

"You and Michael's, yes."

"I live here?"

"If you like it, then yes."

Ezreal scrubbed at his face. "This is five times bigger than my house in Piltover. This room alone."

"Well, hopefully you'll get used to it," Zandred said with a smile. "Even if it is a bit big for the Prodigal Explorer. Before I leave, do you have any questions? Anything at all?"

Ezreal bit his lip. One of the biggest questions was "Why am I so popular with the Summoners?" But he doubted Zandred had a clear-cut answer for that. He was strong, but surely that couldn't be the only reason. Maybe the Summoners themselves didn't know.

"Zandred? What's up with all the water around here?"

"Oh. You're in the Supports' area. Water is a healing and restoring force. The Summoners found that placing the Supports around such a natural source of energy and around nature in general helps them, you know, be more spiritual. That way, their healing and calming powers are even more effective. And we found that many of them simply enjoy swimming or bathing." Zandred shrugged. "Anything else?"

"What's Michael like? I find it strange that I've never heard of him."

"But you don't know much about the other champions, do you? The Supports had to introduce themselves."

"I recognize most of the other champs. I know some of their names from _The Justice Review_. We used to get it in Piltover. Never a word about Michael, though."

"You'll have to meet him yourself. I don't particularly like speaking for other people...none of the Summoners do." _Weird_, Ezreal thought. _They're all so careful_. "I think you'll like him, though. Most people do. Any other gnawing questions? I know you're knowledge-hungry, but I have a meeting to get to soon and -"

"No, nothing else." Ezreal tried to smile. "Thank you for showing me around."

"It's my pleasure! I'll be in touch with you again soon. Let any of the Summoners know if you need anything, alright?"

"I will."

Zandred slipped outside Ezreal's door. It shut with a soft thud, leaving Ez alone with his thoughts.

He didn't particularly mind. Silence was his natural state. He'd grown accustomed to it during his explorations, and during his solitary studies in Piltover's cramped library. He snorted to himself and ran a tired hand through his hair, removing his goggles.

The Piltover Library, which was really just four dusty bookcases and a couple of empty crates, probably looked like a baby's nursery compared to the one at the Institute of Justice.

_I'll wait to check it out_, he thought. _The way Zandred and Merilyn were talking, it sounds like this might be one of the few times I get to relax_.

Thinking this, he pulled off his grimy white t-shirt and threw it on the ground. Then he examined the array of brass knobs on the side of the tub and finally found the jets. His faded blue jeans joined the pile of clothes.

His glove stayed on, however. Years of experimentation led Ezreal to conclude that it was virtually indestructible. A little bathing might actually do it some good.

"This is the good life," he said to himself, dumping lavender salts out of a glass vial. The humming jets encased his body up to his neck, soothing sore muscles, washing mud out of cuts. Beneath the foam, the blue light on his glove shone like a submerged sapphire.

He leaned back into the pounding waterfall, scrubbing days of dirt out of his hair. The life of an explorer was never a clean one.

But a few nagging thoughts kept him from fully enjoying himself. He didn't want to be here - it wasn't really his choice. And he didn't particularly enjoy fighting.

And he had no real friends yet. The Supports seemed friendly but...that was part of their job.

His long eyelashes seemed to grow heavier and heavier. At last he got out of the tub, shaking himself like a wet dog. After digging around in a small bathroom dresser, he found a loose pair of white pants.

_Not really my style. They'll do for now. _

He flopped onto the bed. It felt like lying on a cloud.

_I should explore more_, he thought. _I need to know my environment. _

_Who needs a map_, he thought.

He passed out.

He didn't really wake up at the first intrusion. Some half-slumbering part of him noted that there were strangers in his room, but that they posed no danger. Two novice Summoners in blue robes were fussing over him and dragging in a dresser identical to Michael's.

"He looks so cute and undeadly when he's sleeping," one whispered loudly to the other.

"I don't know…after seeing him on the Rift, it's hard to forget how much ass-whoopin' he does. I saw him take down an entire team by himself once. They couldn't catch him."

"I believe it. Why's he finally here, by the way? Do you know?"

"None of the Novices do. The Summoners aren't telling us."

"Heh. Probably means they don't know either." There was a scraping sound as they drug the dresser to Ezreal's side of the bed. "What size is he?"

"Same as Michael, judging by the way he's wearing his pants."

"Pfffft. Michael's a little taller, isn't he? Ez's just a kid."

"Yeah, yeah, but these should do. And if they don't -"

"We have to tell the weavers. Which is your job."

"No! I told them last time Cho'Gath's bowtie and top-hat didn't fit!"

"I told them the last time they made the cup size on Katarina's Halloween costume too small! It's your turn!"

"I don't want to tell them. They always get so irate. One time I tore a hole in my robes and they made me scrub their quarters with my toothbrush."

"Let's hope we got Ez's size right, then. I'd double check but –"

"Touching him while he's passed out isn't really nice, is it? Let's get out of here. I'm dying of hunger."

"You're always hungry. I doubt the entire buffet for the Champs could feed you for more than two days."

"Hush your mouth. With all the work I do, I think I should get more food than the rest of the novices anyways…"

Their voices trailed off. Ezreal slipped deeper into sleep, twitching slightly.

His eyes snapped open. His heart pounded before he realized where he was. His body wasn't used to having such a soft bed, or a bed at all. He'd learned to find rocks fairly comfortable during his travels.

The light slanting outside the window was a burnt orange. Sunset. Far away, he heard the belltower chime out seven o' clock. He'd slept for over ten hours straight.

More voices sneaked into his room. Straining his ears he could make out Taric's low intonations and Lulu's high, tinkling laugh. He leaned against the pillows to listen.

"What I'm saying is, we wouldn't be that mean to you," Taric said. "We've never played tricks on you. Right, girls?"

There was a murmur of assent sprinkled with giggles.

"I can tell by the way you're laughing that you're playing a trick on me!" A voice Ezreal didn't recognize. Michael? "What about the time Lulu turned me into a cupcake?"

"It was only once," Lulu laughed.

"Or the time you changed me into a dragon?"

"You made such a CUTE widdle dragon, though, Mikey!" The sorceress chortled with glee.

"Or the time Soraka thought it was funny to make my musical instruments look like bananas? There was yellow paint everywhere."

"It was funny, Michael. Besides, I helped you clean it up."

Ezreal leaned back even farther into his pillows. _I didn't realize the Supports hazed people. Thought that was strictly for the Noxian military._ The gentleness of their tricks made him smile.

"Or the time Taric tricked me into making out with him?"

"Was that trick? How was that a trick?" Taric sounded bemused.

Michael sputtered angrily. "Moving on – Karma carved my guitar picks into fans one time."

"I have a lot of downtime," she said indignantly.

"Sure you do, honey. You spend an awful lot of it with that handsome Yi guy," Taric said smoothly.

"Hush!"

"Nami hasn't played a trick on me, but she hasn't been here for long. Neither has Thresh, but he rooms – where does he room?"

"The eternal darkness," Soraka said with a snicker.

"My point is, fellow Supports, that you've played multiple tricks on me. Thus, I highly, highly doubt that the best champion in the League is sleeping in my room right now."

The footsteps and voices were coming closer. "Michael – the jokes we've played on you were never cruel." Soraka was using her supportive voice, cool and calm like an ocean in August.

"What's your point?"

"We know how much you admire Ezreal, and how much you want to be a support champion in the League. So joking about that would genuinely hurt your feelings," Karma replied.

Ezreal could see the shadows of feet at the bottom of the door. They were clustered right outside.

Ezreal heard Michael hesitate. "But why would he room here? Why would he even come here in the first place?"

"Who knows? Maybe he doesn't even know. He came to our table at breakfast, I invited him to our area, he agreed, and here we are."

"So he's really in there?"

"I don't know if he's actually in there. He could be at dinner. But he's here at the Institute, yes."

"We'll see about th-" The door opened. Ezreal winced and covered his eyes. The light from outside cut through the gloom in the room.

When he could see again, he found himself face to face with Michael.


	3. Growing Harmony

_N.B. Thank you all so much for the positive reviews and the favorites. They are very inspirational! _

_I hope you enjoy what is the last slow chapter to come for a long time. After this, the action is going to heat up as Ezreal begins truly making a name for himself in the League. _

Michael was slightly older than him, twenty-one at most. His shoulders and arms were very thin and pale. Dark brown hair and darker eyes, Ezreal noted. High cheekbones.

Ezreal had to admit he was very handsome, in a refined, delicate way.

And that he had a very shocked expression.

After Michael could speak again, he reached for Ezreal's hand and shook it. The dark eyes never left Ezreal's face.

"Guess they weren't kidding after all," Michael said. "I'm glad to meet you."

"Pleased to meet you, too, though I kind of wish they'd been kidding."

Ezreal swung himself out of bed. He heard Taric snicker and say, "Nice bod you got there, Ez." The other Supports giggled. They were clustered around Taric, watching he and Michael's every move. Ezreal remembered he wasn't wearing his clothes and blushed a little.

"Ah, sorry for grabbing one of your outfits."

"No no no. It's fine. Seriously. Anything I have, feel free to use it."

"I'm sure Michael won't mind," Karma said mischievously. "He's your biggest _fan_."

"Is that true? Hold on, let me change." Ezreal fled into the bathroom, carrying one of his new outfits – green plaid sleeping pants and a loose white shirt. The material was heavenly.

He could hear the small group muttering outside.

"Happy, Michael? Maybe you've got a new friend." Soraka sounded pleased.

"I wonder if he'll help me get into the League."

Taric quietly said, "Practicing with a carry – especially one of the best carries – I don't see how they wouldn't let you in, if the two of you got good enough together."

Ezreal's eyebrows rose. He wet a comb and tugged it through his hair.

Ez, attuned to magic, could feel the latent power resting in Michael. It was true that most of the members of the League had magic coiling within them, but the song coming from Michael was particularly strong. He wondered what sorts of powers his new roommate boasted.

"We're going to head off," Taric said. "Have to polish my armor."

"I've got to visit Yi. He needs something," Karma added, fanning her face.

"Oooh, girl. You gonna show him your crane stance?"

"Taric, you're awful!" There was a loud smack as Karma hit him with a fan. The Supports laughed.

Sona played a few tinkling notes on the mini etwahl she carried when she wasn't battling.

They shut Ezreal's door and went into the large hall.

Michael, still laughing quietly, turned on a lamp, pulled his sandals off, and plopped onto the huge bed. Ezreal came and sat on the other side of the mattress.

After a brief pause, Michael said, "We should probably get to know each other, for when we're on Summoner's Rift together."

"You're not a champion yet, are you?"

Michael looked hurt. "No, but I should be soon. Besides, the Summoners found that the win rate for bottom lane goes up a lot, when the carry and the Support know each other."

Ez snorted. "That's funny. I didn't even know their names until today, and my winrate has been – "

"Almost 60 percent," Michael finished. "Can you imagine how much higher it will be when you finally get to know them?"

"How do you know my winrate?"

"Oh. Uh. I'm a huge fan of yours," Michael confessed. "I watch you fight whenever you're on the Rift. You're my favorite carry."

"Is that why you didn't believe the other Supports when they told you I was here?"

"That was part of the reason. The other reason is the same as to why other people don't believe you're here."

"And why's that?"

"You've never shown up outside the Rift before." Michael folded his legs and tugged off his shirt. The sinews in his arms were long and clearly visible. Though thin, his stomach was still taut from exercise, and there was the beginning of muscle around his shoulders. Ezreal doubted he would be ever be very muscular, though.

"I remember," Michael continued, "following you off the Rift one day. I wanted very badly to meet you and tell you what a good job you did. That was the match you'd gone 22/3/1 – Well, one of those matches, anyways.

"You took on Swain and Xin Zhao at the same time and escaped with so little stamina left. We all thought you were dead. And Karma was chasing you, so you Arcane Shifted over a tree barrier and all the Summoners started cheering and screaming. Then you fired an Essence Flux back through the trees and took Karma down too – "

"Wait. How do the Summoners watch the game? Where? I never see any seating. Just forest."

"Remote magical viewing. Scrying. Trust me, no one wants to get hit by a stray Trueshot."

"Ah." Remote magical viewing. _So they're separated from the agony we feel. So they probably can't see the blood come gushing out when I'm caught in the Adam's apple by one of Ashe's arrows._

Ezreal saw Michael's expression grow sad. He wondered if Michael had complete mind-reading abilities, or if he was only an empath, catching Ezreal's sudden, temporary flash of anger. "Anyways, carry on."

"So I went to meet you – maybe get an autograph…maybe give you a hug. You – you always look like you need one." Michael laughed nervously. "Sorry, that just slipped out."

Ezreal tried not to laugh. _Oh man, this guy's weird. But in a funny way._

"So ANYWAYS. I got to the exit of the Rift. And I saw you walking off the battlefield. And I was about twenty feet away when you just vanished–"

"And appeared back in my bed in Piltover, and passed out from exhaustion," Ez concluded.

"Ah. I'd heard rumors that that's where you lived. But how does that happen? How do you travel over a thousand miles in a few seconds?"

"I'm not sure."

"So you're a part of the League entirely against your will? That has to suck, big time."

Ezreal yawned and leaned against the dark wood headboard. "Why do you say that? I mean, it does. But why do you think that personally?"

"Being on Summoner's Rift all the time takes effort and dedication. I've learned that by trying to become a champion. The fighting…it can be difficult, sometimes. Even when you know you won't actually harm the other person, that they'll come back completely healed, it's hard to look someone in the eyes and kill them."

Ez chuckled sleepily, shaking his head. Despite his day of rest, the time difference between The Institute of War and Piltover was quite expansive. And his body loved sleep. He hadn't gotten much of it these days. Michael dimmed the lamp, even though it was quite clear he'd be happy talking to his favorite champion for hours to come.

"What's so funny?"

"Just that we're complete opposites. You're trying really, really hard to become a champion and me – well, I'm trying to not become one. I'm tired of this."

Michael was silent for a while. Ezreal could practically taste his bitter disappointment. Clearly, Michael expected his favorite carry to share his feelings about the League.

At last Michael said quietly, "I don't think they'll let their top carry just quit on them."

"Me neither, Mike." Ezreal rolled onto his side. "But we'll see. I have to do what I can."

Michael stared up at the ceiling. Every once in a while, he glanced over, just to make sure what he was seeing was true. Ezreal, the Prodigal Explorer. Lying in his – well, their – bed. _He looks so peaceful when he's sleeping_, Michael thought. _And so troubled when he's awake._

Michael wasn't sure how he felt, but that wasn't too surprising, given his status as an empath. That's why he had to stay in the Support area. Their usual calmness was a balm after being around large groups of people.

During those times, his emotions rioted alongside each individual's experience. Someone found a gold piece on the floor – a spurt of happiness. Someone was experiencing marital discontentment – a fog of thick gray depression. Scarlet, bloody anger. Love, as white and fresh as lilies on a stalk. And countless other, unnamed feelings that crawled all over the spectrum.

The Summoners in charge of his admission into the League had told him to begin practicing influencing others' emotions. Michael had balked. Influencing others was terribly unnatural, he felt. Besides, the stronger their own emotions, the harder it was to replace those emotions with different ones.

But now he wished he would've practiced more.

His favorite champion – the one he'd wanted to be friends with since first seeing him – wanted to leave the League.

And Ezreal's feelings were understandable. Bitterness. Loneliness. Quiet despair. Exhaustion.

_Even if I don't replace his feelings entirely, can't I still try to influence him to stay? We'd make such a great combination together in bot lane. We synergize so well._

Even as he thought this, Michael knew that wanting Ezreal to stay transcended the importance of the League itself.

_I want him to be my friend._

He was one of the few champions who was a scholar, like Michael. They had a lot in common, including a love for history. Besides, Ezreal was funny and laidback. Even through all the negative emotions Ezreal felt, Michael sensed a deep love for life, an unquenchable desire for adventure.

_I'll have to try my best_, Michael thought.

_To get into the League, and to keep Ezreal in it._


	4. The Battle Begins

Ezreal skirted the Noxian battlefield, moving as quietly as a fox. The sky above him was bloody red from the sunset, mixed with a hazy grey from the massive funeral pyres that sent oily smoke spiraling into the sky.

This was the part of being an archaeologist that bothered him the most.

_It's history in the making_, he thought. _Someone has to do it._

He pulled his scarf tighter over his nose, to filter the smoke_._

Crouching down and slipping through a few shadows, he spotted a fallen Demacian soldier. Even with all the gloom, the soldier's helmet gleamed with gold and sapphires. His shield had a complicated dragon design wrought on it – the crest of a family that would soon hear of his death on the battlefield.

Ezreal would leave the shield. He knew from experience that it would be mounted in the soldier's family's dining hall, probably next to a large color portrait of the warrior. On special feast days, his kin would pay their respects and swap stories about the soldier.

But that helmet…it would be quite the trophy for the growing warfare museum in Piltover. Stalking towards the corpse, Ezreal could picture the placard beneath it, written in ornate black handwriting on a creamy white paper.

_This helmet is an example of the fine Demacian art of blacksmithing. It would have protected a soldier that was ranked higher than a footsoldier, but lower than a general._

Maybe people would see it on display and have second thoughts about the monstrosity of warfare. They would realize that history was doomed to repeat itself in an endless loop and stop supporting wars. Maybe the helmet would bring peace.

All these naïve thoughts flashed through Ezreal's mind as he reached out to tug the helmet from the soldier's head.

A large, gauntleted hand snatched his wrist, crushing the bones. Ezreal let out a strangled cry as he was hauled upward. He found himself staring into the eyes of Darius – darker than an eclipse, and smoking with hatred.

"What have we here?" Darius said with a laugh. "A graverobber?"

Ezreal panted, struggling to get out of his grasp. "I'm – I'm an archaeologist!"

Darius spat on his face. Ezreal flinched backwards, still dangling in the air. "I thought your kind was more interested in dinosaur bones than gold."

"Let me down!"

"You're a Demacian, aren't you? Probably one of their little pet servants, from the look of it." Darius leaned closer and breathed into his ear. "What other use would you have, with your pretty blonde hair and blue eyes?"

Ezreal flinched. His face, already flushed from the heat of the flames, grew brighter.

"I'm a neutral party and I have the papers to prove it!"

Darius lifted him up farther, smiling slyly. With his other free hand, he brushed the hair out of Ezreal's face and let his gauntlet slide over Ezreal's cheek. The rough material hurt. "What if I don't care?"

Ezreal sputtered. His struggling began anew. He managed to kick Darius' chest, but the strong metal simply reverberated from the force of it.

"I think I might take you as a servant of my own. You'd like that, wouldn't you? At least you'd be allied with the winning side – "

"Darius!" A commanding voice rang across the battlefield. Ezreal could make out a shadow with a limp. As it came closer, Ez recognized General Jericho Swain. Another face from the newspapers. Known for his cruelty. Ezreal nearly fainted.

"Darius, what the hell are you doing?"  
"I found this little kid traipsing across the battlefield like it was a market on a sale day."

Swain examined Ezreal, who now hung limply. Ezreal avoided his piercing gaze. Sweat mingled with fearful tears rolled down his cheeks.

"Do you not recognize him, Darius?"

"Should I?"

"He's Piltover's Grandmaster Explorer. Ezreal."

Darius looked impressed. "So he's not just a pretty-boy servant for the soldiers?"

"You're confusing a child prodigy with a boot-shiner. Your obtuseness never ceases to amaze me, Darius."

With the hand that wasn't gripping Ezreal's wrist, Darius stroked his chin thoughtfully. "Piltover's Grandmaster Explorer, eh? We could take him as a prisoner of war…"

"Hardly worth the trouble." Swain patted the raven sitting on his right shoulder. The raven, too, scrutinized Ezreal, then cawed loudly and flew off to search for carrion.

"We could just kill him," Darius said casually. Ezreal started shaking.

"He's not allied with either side."

"Since when do we follow the rules of war? This is Noxus we're discussing, Jericho. You and I both agree that weakness is death."

"He's a child. He can't be more than twelve."

"So?"

"Darius!" Swain boomed. He whirled to face the Noxian General. Ezreal quaked as he saw Swain's face beginning to change. The general's eyes were growing darker, birdlike. Repulsive wings sprouted from his shoulders. "Do not disobey me! I will not let your eternal bloodlust consume the life of an innocent child that is not a member of the faction we are fighting, do you understand? Now let him go!"

Ezreal fell to the ground with a soft thump. He panted desperately and scrabbled to stand up, but his legs refused to work, and he fell again. Swain, now fully human, bent down to him and extended his hand.

Ezreal took it.

"Ezreal. Remember the kindness that Noxus has done to you this day. When you are older, remember that we are not child killers, unlike the people we fight."

Ezreal swallowed. "Huh?"

With his raven-topped cane, Swain gestured to a mound of bodies. "Look."

Ezreal snatched a glance at Darius. The general was contemplating the sky, obviously trying to keep his fury in check. On jelly legs, Ez walked towards the unlit pyre.

The contorted faces of boys his age, dressed in Noxian armor, took him aback. Ezreal gasped.

"Yes, it is true. The faction fighting for the light sees no problem in murdering young men your age, Ezreal." Swain clasped both of his hands atop his cane and bowed his head. "The child soldiers of Noxus are simply seen as easy prey. Remember this, when you are old enough to fight. Remember how you were spared. And think of what would have happened if Jarvan had found you, as you are wearing the colors of Noxus."

Ezreal looked down at his clothes. Swain was right. His pants and shirt were a dark black, and the scarf around his neck was as red as Noxus' banner.

It was camouflage. If he saw someone coming, he would lie on the ground. The red on around his neck simulated blood. It had worked many times, and often he didn't draw a second glance.

But if it had failed and Jarvan or a Demacian warrior had seen him…Ezreal swallowed again and bowed to Swain. It was the last time he would bow to any faction and mean it.

"T-Thank you." Without looking back, Ezreal ran. The adrenaline poured through his legs. He ran for many miles as the air around him sparked with his uncontrollable magic.

In the present, Ezreal's eyes fluttered open. He massaged his temples and groaned.

That incident had happened years ago, and he'd been dreaming of it since. Darius' huge, rough hands seemed to have made a permanent impression in his skin. He could still feel them.

For a long time he had wondered if Noxus was indeed the faction he should support. After all, words in newspapers were not nearly as convincing as a mound of pre-pubescent bodies. But now that he was older, he realized just how devious Swain had been on the battlefield that day.

The only reason Noxus did not kill child soldiers was because Demacia did not allow child soldiers. Noxus forced every young man who could hold a sword to join the army on the battlefield. Many of the children were brainwashed into a predatory frenzy, even believing that Demacian soldiers were demons incarnate.

Still, Demacian forces had slain those kids. Even as Demacia stressed that they were gentle, that they fought for righteousness, there was nothing righteous about stabbing a child who was out of their mind. And not a word of those dead child soldiers was breathed.

Someone rapped lightly on the bedroom door. As Ezreal went to open it, he noticed that Michael's side of the bed was unoccupied. _Mike's an_ _Insomniac. I love to sleep. We really are opposites, aren't we? _

It was Zandred. He bowed from the waist before saying rapidly, "Good morning! I forgot to inform you, Ezreal. Sparring begins in fifteen minutes. Please get ready."

"Sparring? I thought that was optional. I haven't even had breakfast yet." Ezreal yawned.

"That's intentional. Warriors fight better on an empty stomach."

"I'm pretty sure that's bullshit," Ezreal growled. The dream had left him in a pretty sour mood. Still, he let Zandred into his room and pulled on a fresh pair of jeans and a forest-green t-shirt. He brushed his teeth and scrubbed his face while Zandred stared at his large, silver wristwatch.

"I knew I'd forgotten to inform you, but I was so excited to report to Darrigon."

"Who?"

"He's one rank higher than Merilyn. Another Summoner. He was most pleased to hear of your arrival. Come with me, please."

As Ezreal passed by the window to the pavilion, he saw the Supports meditating in the shade, surrounded by cool breezes and warm spring air. Michael in particular looked very peaceful.

"I wish I was a Support," Ezreal sighed. "That's the good life."

"I can understand that." Zandred tugged on Ez's wrist to get him to move faster. "Still, there's hardly any role more worshiped than Attack-Damage Carry. Even though it takes a team to win a game, wins and losses are often attributed to the Carry. By the way, how are you getting on with Michael?"

Ezreal shrugged, nearly jogging now. He was focusing on keeping his magic powers in check, so he didn't Arcane Shift on accident. "Mike seems nice."

"Has he told you who his parents are yet?"

"Nah. I didn't think to ask him, either."

"They're Merilyn and Darrigon."

"Well, that might explain him almost being a champion. Not sure what sort of parents would want their kids to do this, though." The two of them rushed past Nasus, reading on a fountain's ledge. Further down the path, a cat-like Yordle was juggling brightly-colored balls. Ezreal squinted. Or were they bombs?

"The League is highly venerated. It is a true honor to serve in it." Zandred's expression softened. "I know you don't think so now, but you might, in time."

The Summoner led Ezreal through an ornate arch that read "The Proving Grounds."

"There are two Proving Grounds. One of them is wider than the other and used for sparring. This way, please." Zandred tugged Ezreal into a large dome. _This looks like something in a book I read…something about Gladiators? _

The large bell tower struck seven as Ezreal passed through a tunnel, then onto a field blazing with light.

"Look who's here!" A blade whistled towards him. Ezreal stepped slightly to the right. When his eyes fully readjusted to the sun, Ez saw the Noxian woman crouched in front of him, a seductive smile playing across her face.

"Katarina," Zandred bellowed. "You're supposed to be sparring with the other mages!"

"I wanna kill pretty boy," the assassin purred. "Fighting my sister over and over is getting boring. She's hardly a threat."

Cassiopeia hissed, her tongue darting out and tasting the air. "You're just tired of losing."

The Sparring Grounds were packed with Carries. Farther away, Ezreal saw Swain fighting a being made of pure energy.

"Come here!" one of the Demacian generals squealed. A petite blond woman that shared Ezreal's cerulean blue eyes. Lux. She was in hot pursuit of a Noxian trickster that Ez had long admired named LeBlanc.

"Lasers just bounce off of mirrors, don't they, Luxanna?" LeBlanc teased. She hopped towards Lux, threw a sigil and bounced away. Lux huffed and fired a scaldingly brilliant beam after her. "You missed!" LeBlanc called, laughing wildly.

"If you didn't want him to join us, Zandred, you shouldn't have brought him to the mage side of the Sparring Grounds. I'm sure there are plenty of people here who want to have a piece of him." Katarina drew a finger across one of her blades, still smiling.

Ez's mouth quirked. "I wouldn't mind that."

Zandred shook his head in mock disgust. "There will be plenty of time for flirting later. Now is the time to fight. _THIS WAY, PLEASE_!"

"Zandred, why are the mages so much more attractive than the other female carries?"

Zandred sputtered. "That's a matter of opinion. Why, I know a Freljordian Princess who puts most of those carries to shame."

"You have a crush on Ashe?" Ezreal laughed. "She's married to Tryndamere."

"That marriage, my boy, is entirely political, if you know what I mean." Zandred winked. "But you didn't hear that from me. So here we are!"

This side of the battlefield was far more serious and much quieter. Ezreal already didn't like it. As he and Zandred approached, the rest of the Carries stopped and stared. "Oh, great," the Amazonian-looking princess sighed. "Wonderboy is here."

"I've been looking forward to this day for a long time," Varus said sarcastically. Ezreal knew his name from an archaeological study that had detailed the magical properties of Varus' bow.

"Greetings, Carries. As you know, Ezreal has been welcomed to join the League –" There was a collective groan. "—And he will be sparring with you from now on. So, which of you would like to fight him first?"

"Not me, sugar." Caitlyn studied her nails. "I know that boy from home and I am _not_ fighting him."

"Not me. He can just flash out of my boomerang." The Amazon frowned, lining up her boomerang with a tiny target farther away than the rest.

"There's no point. I can't duel him," Ashe said with a shrug.

"Nope," said Twitch. He continued firing pellets at a target.

"Oh come on guys, really?" Zandred looked at the sky as if for guidance. "How are you going to get any better at fighting him if you don't spar with him? The Summoners are going to kill me if he doesn't spar!"

"Get him to spar with someone else. We don't want him over here," Graves drawled. So saying, he hefted up his huge gun and fired at a target. The target was smashed to pieces. "Fights like a girl, anyways, always darting in and out of stuff. And I don't like to hit weak girls like that." Twitch chuckled.

Ezreal felt a flash of anger that quickly grew to a flame. "Well fine. Sparring against people I always win against isn't going to make me better, either. Hell, I'd probably just pick up some bad habits that would make me worse!" He spat on the ground. Zandred's eyes grew huge.

"You're not really a Carry like us anyways, babe. With all that magic stuff you use." Caitlyn fired a shot at another target. "We use good old-fashioned bullets and arrows over here."

"You heard her." Ashe made a shooing gesture with one of her arrows. Her blue eyes blazed into his. "Go play with the mage girls. You know – your own kind."

"At least they'll be a challenge," Ezreal snarled. He stalked off towards the mages, with Zandred scurrying behind him.

"I'm so sorry, Ezreal. I don't know why they're so hostile—"

"Probably because they're tired of me kicking their asses." _Probably because they're like most people. They just…don't like me._

"Yes, but they really have no right to act like that." Zandred threw a glance over his shoulder. The carries were all clustered together. Occasionally one of them looked in their direction and laughed. "That's _so_ unprofessional."

"This Institute of War thing is complete crap. I'm thinking of going home." Ezreal looked at the faded blue sky and thought of the caves he loved to explore. He was more at home in their damp darkness than on a field glowing with sunlight. His eyes ached.

"Hey. Listen. The mages will be nicer to you, I promise. They're more open-minded. Besides, I think you're exactly right. Sparring with them will be better for you because it's more of a challenge – Hey! Listen up!" He called into the mage side of the battlefield. They immediately clustered around the two of them, studying Ezreal with interest. "I need one of you to spar with Ezreal because the other carries are too scared!"

The entire company burst into excited cries. "Let me at him!" "Pick me!" "I'll tear him apart!" They were joking, though. Ezreal could tell by their smiles and laughter. All the mages talked to one another like that. It was a way of getting themselves pumped up.

"Alright, alright. Which one of you doesn't have a partner yet?"

Twisted Fate raised his hand. Ezreal noted with interest that his drawl was very similar to Graves'. "Sir, Ziggs hasn't show up yet. Probably still juggling his balls for practice, if you know what I mean. I'd love to see what this kid is really made of."

Zandred turned to him. "It's not a traditional matchup but…are you alright sparring with TF?"

Ezreal nodded confidently. "I'm ready."

"Alright. Ready? Go!"

Ezreal ducked as cards whistled by him, then fired off a beam of light.

"Get him, TF!" "Mages do it better!" "My money's on the kid."

A chant started up. "EZ! EZ! EZ! EZ!"

The mages formed a tight circle around Ez and his opponent. He spotted Zandred, conspicuous in his purple Summoner robes, cheering for him.

TF held a yellow card between two fingers. He was smiling fiercely. Ezreal smiled back, readying his glove.

_Maybe this'll be fun after all._


	5. Good Terms and Bad

Ch. 5 Good Terms and Bad

Ezreal darted between the cards flying his way. "TF! You missed!" he called, echoing the mocking tone the mages used on one another.

"Oh, really?" TF whispered into his ear. Ezreal whipped around. He'd forgotten TF could teleport.

Before he could dodge, a lemon-colored card smacked him in the face. His whole body tingled; his muscles froze. The crowd roared as more cards raced towards him. At the last second, Ezreal dissolved into particles of light, reappearing to TF's right.

TF jerked his head around. "God, he's quick."

"You got that one right." He loosed a blue-grey beam from his glove. It caught TF in the ribs. The Cardmaster stumbled backwards but regained his footing and hurled a red card Ez's way. He evaded it and sent a wave of sparks towards TF, who ducked.

The other mages got quiet. One of them whistled.

Ezreal stood, awaiting TF's next move. The two of them circled each other, never breaking eye contact.

"What's wrong, kid? You scared?"

"What happened, TF? You use one of them gold cards on yourself?"

Twisted Fate smiled. "Good one."

The magician must have used one of his sleights of hand. Ezreal didn't even see the cards until they were inches from his face. The carved deep furrows into his cheeks that welled with blood, like the warpaint he usually wore. Ezreal staggered back and countered with a few weaker shots, but another yellow card caught Ez, stunning him, followed by another deck.

"Ez! Get it together!" he heard Zandred yell. The rest of the mages were murmuring to themselves. This wasn't like the Carry at all.

_Ha. It's been a while since I've used deception. They must have forgotten my old strats._

He let one more card hit him. Then he flashed to the right and threw a bunch of bolts in rapid succession that hit TF on the side. TF let out of a cry of surprise as Ezreal wove in and out of his storm of cards, battering his body with smaller attacks. When TF readied a yellow card as a last ditch effort, Ezreal juked to the left.

He called on the magic simmering in his veins, shouting a harsh battle cry. TF didn't have time to move when the luminous wave of particles struck him. He fell to the ground.

The mages around him were silent. Then Katarina cheered. Soon the other mages burst into wild applause and cat-calls. Ezreal brushed dirt off his shoulder and smiled at Katarina, who smiled back warmly.

Zandred rushed over and held up Ezreal's gloved fist. "We have a winner!"

When the magic of The Sparring Grounds healed TF, he got to his feet and shook Ezreal's hand. His grip was strong and friendly.

"Good show, kiddo. Lots of fun." Twisted Fate took off his hat, beat the dust out of it, then bowed to the rest of the mages.

Ez was tempted to ask if he were okay, even though he knew the Summoners' magic healed everyone entirely. He traced the skin where he usually painted his triangles. His cuts were already gone.

"You put up a good fight, TF."

Twisted Fate chuckled. "Let's just say that I hope you're on my team when we're on The Rift."

Zandred organized a couple other sparring matches. Ez especially hated fighting Orianna. Her ultimate ability broke one of his calf bones.

Though the Sparring Grounds' magic muted most of the pain, looking at his leg bent at such an unnatural angle made bile rise in his throat in an acidic wave. When he could stand again, he fired off his Trueshot and watched with a sense of satisfaction as Orianna burst into a pile of springs and sprockets.

Fighting Cassiopeia was bad, too. Her purple venom deadened the muscles in his body until they felt like useless blocks of stone. Looking into her alluring green eyes rooted him to the spot, helpless to move even when her fangs pricked his skin. She was especially likely to bite his neck, mingling pain and pleasure in a way that made Ez uncomfortable, to say the least.

Lux was fairly easy to best because their abilities were similar. Plus, she spent much of the sparring match occupied by staring at him with wide, blue eyes, so much so that Ez became slightly embarrassed.

_She's a Demacian general. You'd at least think she'd try to hide her attraction to me a little bit. _

By the time the matches had come around to Katarina, the sparring session was called off. Ez's eyes followed her as she trotted out of the dome, exchanging a fist bump with an entering Darius. The bruisers and junglers were coming to train against one another. Accordingly, trees began appearing in the dome, gradually fading from transparency into reality. The verdant jungle simulated the patterns of light and shade, as opposed to the virtual sunlight and packed dirt of the lanes on The Rift.

Ez was so busy staring at Kat that he whacked into a cypress as it became real.

"Ow."

"You alright?" Zandred appeared at his shoulder. Though the Summoner hadn't sparred, he looked just as hot and sweaty as Ezreal did because his cheering had been so enthusiastic.

"Yeah. I just feel a little dumb."

"No worries. No one saw it. So how do you feel?"

Ez cracked his neck, debating his answer. "Pretty tired, I guess. Do I have to show up every morning?"

"You're required to attend two or three sessions a week. Some champions get away with one. But, like I said earlier, a lot of people—"

"Enjoy serving in the League," Ez finished. "Yeah, yeah. I got that."

"Besides. Physical activity can be addicting, just like any other activity."

A fairly inappropriate thought about Katarina popped into Ezreal's mind. He scrubbed at his mouth, trying to hide a sheepish smile. "I have a couple questions."

"That's what I'm here for. Fire away, Ez. No pun intended."

"What do people usually do now?"

"They hang out, eat breakfast or lunch, read, work out, relax. You know, the usual."

"What about the Rift?"

"You're on call all the time."

"_All_ the time?"

"Yes."

"Oh." Ezreal frowned. "Even though—"  
"Even though you just sparred, yes. I didn't want to tell you, but most of the Summoners at the Institute of War were watching you fight."

Ezreal swallowed. He thought back to the matches. "I won every one of them, right?"

"The only close one was Cassiopeia, yes. They were most excited to gain an insight into your power. And I'm sure they were very, very pleased at your performance. Come, let's try to grab a quick bite."

"At the Dining Hall?"

"There are other places. I want to show you that you don't always have to stay at The Institute." He led Ezreal by the elbow through a plaza. The usual statue of the Summoner was seen here. At the Summoner's feet, lion and mermaid statues spouted water. The lions rested their feet on spheres of mint-green jade. The mermaids' tridents were tipped with the same material.

"Where are we going?"

He and Zandred passed through another arch. This one was staffed by guards that were dressed like the Summoners, but their robes were red. The two imposing men exchanged a nod with Zandred.

"There are a wide variety of different goods available out here. The guards are to keep you champions from getting mobbed, but you are free to leave the Institute at any time."

The pristine white walkway faded into a dirt path. Though still lined with flowers, the blossoms were not nearly as perfect as those at the Institute of War. People were seen milling around, rolling carts, carrying crops. After the spotless robes and clean buildings of the Institute, the soil and color made Ez's eyes ache.

Densely packed, brightly-colored shops appeared beside the paths, hawking everything Ez could imagine. Exotic fruits, crisp vegetables. One of them, selling toys, had replicas of his infamous power glove for sale. Ez looked at his glove, then back at the toys. Though the toy ones had tiny blue flashlights instead of the mysterious gem that powered Ezreal's glove, they looked very similar.

"I didn't realize we had fans."

"You are very, very famous, my boy." Zandred said, smiling. "Here, this restaurant is the best." So saying, he pulled Ez into a small, dimly-lit room.

Ez breathed in the mixture of dust and hay, feeling like he was back in Piltover. The room was populated by two farmers swilling amber mead from chipped cups and a bartender restlessly polishing plates.

The bartender looked up and did a double take. "Why, if it isn't the best carry of them all." The man's voice was as cracked as his bowls and rickety as his chairs. He bowed deeply from his waist. Ezreal felt a flush of embarrassment as the man's back crackled; he had to be three times Ezreal's age, if not more.

Ezreal bowed back. "No need to bow, sir. I'm just a customer, like anyone else."

"Customer, ha! I've seen you in action on the Rift. You're good, boy," said one of the farmers.

"He's good, but my favorite's still old Malcolm Graves," said the other farmer. "Just 'cause he's a good old boy, like one of us."

"So what brings you fancy-clothed gentlemen to my establishment?"

"Ezreal's going to have a rough week ahead of him, now that he's at the League. I need you to serve him up something nutritious as quickly as possible."

The bartender saluted. "You got it, capp'n. Your word is my command. And it's on the house."

"I can pay –" Ezreal began, then patted his jeans. His wallet, long forgotten, was buried in his dirty pair.

"No need to," the bartender said. "Especially not if you sign this here picture – hold on –" he reached under the bar and grabbed a grubby photo of Ezreal. The Explorer looked slightly younger – his face hadn't quite taken on the lean, rugged look it had now. "But wait to see if you like the food first. No reason to advertise if you think it's shit. Right, boys?"

The two farmers grunted in agreement. "Might not be up to your fancy standards," one of them teased.

Ezreal scoffed. "Oh, trust me. Where I'm from, all the restaurants look like this." He sniffed the air as the aroma of fried onions and spiced chicken wafted his way. His stomach gurgled. Zandred gestured at a chair.

The Summoner cocked his head and folded his hand, purple eyes glimmering in the dim light. "So, what aspects of your League experience would you change so far?"

_ Why is he constantly interrogating me? I think he wants me to be comfortable but…I wonder if he notices how many questions he's asking._

"The carries are rude as hell, but that's not surprising."

"That's true…I'll have to talk to Merilyn about that."

"No need."

The bartender set two glasses of fizzy cream soda in front of them.

Ez clinked his glass against Zandred's and took a long, slow drink. The bartender was probably from Piltover, he reckoned. The sweet taste reminded him of summers from his childhood, poring over maps by candlelight, with a cool glass bottle of cream soda in his hands. Delicious – the drink and the memory.

Zandred took a drink and grimaced. "That's one intense soda…so you wouldn't want me to talk to Merilyn and Darrigan?"

"I don't see the point in sparring with champions I face every time in lane. We've sparred enough, from my point of view." After another drink, he asked, "Do the supports spar?"

"No, not really. They have special sessions where they face each other with carries. Like a two versus two."

"That'll be fun."

"Why do you enjoy the Supports?"

Ez shrugged, growing slightly irritated. "They're nice."

"Ah." Zandred leaned back, sensing Ezreal's slight anger. He groped for subjects to switch the conversation to. The boy was obviously angry at having to join the League in the first place. The comforts of The Institute of War would distract him for now, but Zandred had to keep him happy, lest he leave the League. And Merilyn and Darrigan would be very unhappy with that..."That Katarina's quite the beauty."

Ez smiled into his drink. "What? Prettier than Ashe?"

"I don't know about that. Something about a woman with a bow and arrow." Zandred clasped his hand over his heart. "Pierces me to the very soul. Pun very much intended."

Ezreal chuckled, stirring the soda with his finger. "Is that a common thing? For the Summoners to have crushes on the champions?"

"Oh, very much so. I know one gentlemen who continually summons Nami, even though her winrate is terri – well, it's not what it should be. And I can't begin to tell you the hundreds of people who struggle to summon you –"

Ez sputtered. "Woah, what?"

"Oh, please. Men and women both." Zandred took another drink. "As if you didn't know. I told you that you have fans, Ezreal! The demand for you is so great that the people who wish to summon you actually have to take their case to Merilyn first, to see if it's deemed worthy enough for your time."

The bartender sat a platter in front of the two guests. A chicken wrap, one of Ez's favorite Piltover dishes. The meat was tender, juicy, and exotically flavored. After scooping the fried onions onto the wrap, he gulped the whole thing down, thinking still of home.

"Yessir, I'll be signing that picture now."

The bartender bowed again and handed him a quilled pen. Ez wrote on his portrait, "Home away from home. The best Piltover dishes found outside of Piltover" in flowing script, and handed it back to him. The bartender found tacked the picture next to one of Jayce hanging on the wall by the cash register.

"Glad you like the food so much…The people from Piltover come here during the day, and the Noxians are known to come here at night. To unwind and drink."

"Really?" Ez took another sip of the cream soda.

"Yes. I'm sure they wouldn't mind having your company. Either group would welcome it, I'm sure. I just heard the other day that –"

Zandred was cut off by three enormous bell chimes that shook the ground.

Ezreal's body began to thrum – that same elemental, primordial vibration he'd felt many half-asleep in his bed in Piltover. Suddenly, he was ripped from the comfortable Piltover-themed restaurant and found himself staring into the unforgiving sun of the Summoner's Rift.


	6. Base Intentions

_N.B. Short chapter this time. I promise I'll have a much longer chapter as soon as finals and the like are finished. Thanks, as always, for reading!_

_Summoning is one of the worst parts_, he thought. His eyes were tightly shut as he hurtled through limbo, wild wind whipping across his face, tossing his hair. His descent began to slow.  
Finally, his boots touched down on the blue base gently, with a quiet _clack_.  
He opened his eyes, blinking into the sun.  
Next to them were his teammates – Lux was already studying him again. She met his eyes, then covered her mouth and giggled. _She just can't get enough, can she?_  
Next to her stood Master Yi, the steel of his blade glittering coldly. He ignored everyone as he snatched a Hunter's Machete out of the shopkeeper's outstretched hand.  
Renekton's scales gave off the smell of warm leather; he smelled like an old handbag full of pennies.  
And his Support – Sona. In the harsh light of Summoner's Rift, her skin was pale and perfect. Her long, auburn hair held traces of ruby and chestnut in it, and her pink and green dress offset her almond colored eyes.  
Ezreal decided that she was even more beautiful than Katarina. The assassin had a taut, lean beauty like that of a predatory cat, but Sona's gentleness and grace helped Ezreal feel comfortable and less on edge about being in the League.  
_Ezreal, can you hear me?_  
Ezreal paused. _Sona, is that you_?  
_Yes. I cannot talk, but I can connect with one person at a time. It's generally a necessity on the Rift._  
When he was summoned from Piltover, the long distance and his tired state had made communication between he and Sona impossible, as his fear and fatigue made his mind inaccessible. How strange that, even handicapped in so many ways, he was so effective in the League.  
Ez grabbed a Long Sword and two red health potions from the shop keeper as Sona acquired a Vision Ward, two Sight Wards and a Faerie Charm. She hung the gold pendant around her neck.  
_I figure not having to talk aloud gives us a slight advantage, too._  
_True._ Sona smiled. _Sometimes you can hear them give one another commands, and dodge them._  
Ezreal trotted down bottom lane, with Sona floating beside him. As usual, he wasn't sure how he felt. Part of him hummed with excitement, but part of him throbbed with fear and anger. The magic of Summoner's Rift did not mute pain as well as the Sparring Grounds did, and he was unsure of who they were facing. The coming battle could be very unpleasant…  
And it was.  
A javelin smacked Ezreal in the stomach, bringing him to his knees in pain. Sona's eyes widened. She hurried in front of him, trying to block the next one. The two of them moved furtively around, trying to dodge the next spear. But they didn't – Sona flinched to the left as the next one flashed towards Ezreal. It hit his shoulder and stuck there. He tried to suppress a cry of pain and rage.  
From the brush ahead of them, he heard laughter. The huntress – he had faced her many times, and it was never fun.  
When the waves of minions arrived in lane, the enemy bot lane showed themselves. Ezreal made out the bestial form of Nidalee. Paired with her was a Demacian warrior named Quinn. She was fairly new to the League, and thus eager to make a name for herself. A flurry of arrows rained from the sky.  
Next to him, still weaving in and out of the brush, Sona's fingers plucked the strings of her etwahl. The soothing melody invigorated him. Gray and blue light flew from his glove, hitting a few minions, then Quinn. She hissed as the bolts scorched her skin.  
The two Carries circled one another, battling for position as Sona and Nidalee fought for brush control and ward dominance.  
_Sona, do you have your Crescendo ready? _  
_Yes._ Ezreal admired her bravery as she flanked Nidalee and Quinn. When Ezreal distracted them, she strummed her etwahl, stunning both of them.  
Ezreal charged his Trueshot, then leveled his glove at both of them. The wave of gold burned even brighter than the sun. Both Quinn and Nidalee fell unceremoniously to the ground.  
He stared at both of their corpses. His ocean-blue eyes grey hazy. Sona rushed over to him in concern.  
Even knowing that both of them would reappear soon, Ezreal's legs began to tremble. _I killed them._ Images of Demacian and Noxian battlefields flickered into his mind. The bodies of the soldiers were just like those of Quinn and Nidalee. He shivered.  
Sona grabbed his shoulder. Only their earlier-established link allowed him to hear her. Otherwise, he would've been totally closed to her voice.  
_Ezreal! Are you okay?_  
He opened his mouth to speak but couldn't. Then he tried to think a message to her, but his thoughts were too jumbled. Sona began playing her etwahl nervously, unsure of what to do. The carries had a wide variety of physical problems, but never suffered mentally.  
_Ezreal, listen. They aren't actually dead. They'll heal. It's just for sport. Think of it like soccer. Ezreal, do you hear me? Ezreal!_  
He attempted to respond, but was staring into the eyes of the enemy jungler. Hecarim charged towards them with a roar. His hooves pounded the ground, kicking up dust, causing an earthquake. He leapt towards Sona, who used Summoner's Flash. Ezreal shook himself. He had to protect Sona.  
With a roar of his own, he shot Hecarim with blistering bolts. The jungler stampeded under their turret, swinging his weapon in menacing circles. Blue streams curled out from Sona's harp as she led the jungler around the turret, which was blasting Hecarim with beams of its own. At last the jungler, too, fell at Ezreal's feet.  
_It's just a game, Ezreal._  
_Really? _He swiped sweat from his face. _Then I intend to win._  
He grabbed Sona's hand, admiring how soft and delicate it was. Together, the two of them recalled, snatching up more items from the shopkeeper's table, then running back to lane.  
Ezreal got three more kills on Nidalee and two more on Quinn before the enemy turret finally crumbled. Then he and Sona went to help Yi with dragon, pounding on it with abilities until it fell from the air in a flutter of smoke and scales.  
"We need to go top," Renekton growled. "Ezreal. Sona. Come with me."  
Sona left wards in her wake, taking special care to ensure vision on Baron Nashor. Ezreal's tired legs nonetheless kept pumping towards top lane. Sona played the same soothing melody every few seconds, praying to herself that Ezreal wouldn't fall.  
As they shoved out top lane, they were ambushed by Hecarim, Swain, Quinn and Nidalee. The only person missing was their top laner – Jax.  
The foursome closed in on Ezreal and Sona as Renekton dashed away. Lux was coming. Renekton waited in the bush next to them. Sona's Flash was back up – she blew it to bait the enemy team towards her.  
Lux's Light Binding caught Swain and Hecarim in laughably huge cages. She threw a sticky ball of light to the ground around them. It burst into sparks, blinding them.  
Then she began to channel her ultimate. Ezreal did too – the brilliance of their abilities combined blinded everyone; both teams threw hands in front of their eyes, wincing. All four of the enemy dropped to the ground, dead.  
"Woooooo!" Lux shouted. She pounded Ezreal's fist and began to dance around joyfully. "We nailed them!"  
Sona smiled gently and shook Ezreal's hand. He was still dazzled by the abilities' shine.  
The team heard a massive boom from across The Rift as the Summoner's on the other team surrendered. Whatever their dispute had been, it obviously wasn't important enough to continue fighting this battle, already lost.  
As he and his team made their way towards the exit of The Rift, laughing and chatting, they passed the defeated team. Everyone shook Ezreal's hands, except Quinn. He couldn't blame her. He'd stomped her pretty effectively – with Sona's help, of course.  
_I guess the Carries are going to hate me forever, right?_  
Sona shrugged. _It's regrettable, but one can't be friends with everyone, especially not at The Institute of War._  
On impulse, Ezreal stepped behind her etwahl and hugged her. She froze for a second, shocked, then wrapped her delicate arms around him. She smelled like spring water and cherry blossoms, Ezreal realized. She also gave off an aura that relaxed his tired, over-stressed muscles.  
The hug was the only thing he could do to thank her for healing him, for setting up kills, for blocking painful things from his body. There were no words. Not really.  
Master Yi and Renekton grinned wolfishly at Lux, who pursed her lips. Her immense crush on Ezreal was known by everyone at the Institute, and it was often made fun of.  
As Ezreal passed out of the Rift, he saw Michael striding towards him with a huge grin on his face. Ez smiled back. Sona's auras made him feel so wonderful. He wanted to sit and chat with the Supports over coffee or other food, to laugh about the fight he'd just had.  
But he heard three huge bell chimes again. Michael's grin faded. He shouted Ezreal's name, but sound was already gone. Ez clenched his eyes shut as he was hurled through space again.


	7. In the Shadows of the Rift

Ezreal was summoned continually. The matches began to blur together in a whirl of colors. In Piltover, he had been snatched from bed every night at least once. Now that he was at the Institute, the Summoners apparently saw nothing wrong with having him fight over and over again.

He lost a couple games, but never lost lane. One of them was truly close. He had taken two inhibitors and began working on the nexus turrets. But Irelia flew from the blue fountain wearing Homeguard boots, dipping and weaving. She zipped from minion to minion, panting wildly. He fired a few warning shots after her, and he and Taric – the only two living champions from purple team – began pounding on the turret to the right. Super Minions emerged from the Nexus in a merciless onslaught, long, sharp silver claws flailing at him, tearing at his skin.

His teammates were down for a full minute. There was nothing they could do as Irelia hammered an inhibitor, then both turrets. The nexus Ezreal was taking had 50HP remaining when he heard the boom resounding across the Rift, and the joyous roar of victory from Irelia's freshly-spawned teammates. He had smiled to himself. That was a good play.

The other game he lost, his teammates had fed Karthus terribly. It seemed almost that they were running from other areas on the map solely to give him kills. Still, Ezreal and his support (Lulu, this time) persevered. They took both towers in bot and one in mid when Karthus began to hurt more than Lulu's shield and heal could block. The Pantheon on the enemy team was also a strong player, leaping to Ezreal whenever he began applying pressure to another lane, and menacing Ez with his sharp javelin.

Even though he won most matches – even though his Mystic and Trueshots hit home most of the time – there was no happiness in winning for him. He was so fatigued that not even the powerful spells laid on Summoner's Rift could keep the weakness from creeping into his limbs. Sona's soft melodies and Taric's armor did not stop the ache that gradually suffused his body.

At sunset, Ezreal trotted off the Rift, dazed. Most of the champions had already eaten dinner. He could make out the first stars in the soft, navy velvet of the sky.

_I'm a mess_, he thought vaguely. His shirt was ripped. His boots were muddy from scrambling around the river. His hair was matted with dirt and sweat.

And his muscles throbbed so much that he had to sit on the edge of a fountain. The cool water shimmered invitingly beneath the lamps. He wanted to plunge his face in it, bathe in it, come up puffing like a walrus. He contented himself by closing his eyes and putting his non-gloved hand under the mouth of a marble dragon, letting the water curl between his fingers.

Footsteps rushed towards him, accompanied by panting. "Ezreal. Oh my God, you look terrible."

He opened an eye. Michael. "Thanks, roomie. I appreciate that."

"No, no, not like that. I just – what have they done to you?"

"Well, Mike. It's called being in the League." Ezreal leaned back, swayed, steadied himself. "It's apparently something you want to do. I have no idea why."

Michael swallowed. "I – I watched every match. You were amazing."

"I'm apparently not amazing looking."  
"You are –" Michael hid his face behind his hand. Ezreal's endlessly analytical mind noted that he was wearing the purple robes of a Summoner. "I mean…you know. Look, that doesn't matter. You kicked ass today. That's what matters."

"My ass feels like it got kicked repeatedly."

Michael's eyes widened in concern. "Do you need help?"

Ez opened his mouth to say no – the Prodigal Explorer never needed help – but nodded instead as his back twinged painfully. The Rift's spells were wearing off.

There was no shame in getting help from his roommate. Besides, Michael wanted to be a support, right? Soon he'd be carrying Ezreal in more ways than one.

Michael helped him up, then wrapped his arm under Ezreal's shoulder. Being five inches taller than Ezreal, the position made him have to walk on tiptoe. But it stretched his exhausted calf muscles.

"Do you want dinner?"

"I don't even think I can make it to our room, to be quite honest." Ezreal closed his eyes as he and Michael passed the Summoner's dorm. He didn't see Michael studying his face avidly, feeling awe and disbelief that he was actually touching his favorite Champion.

In the Summoner's dorm, someone was making cinnamon rolls; someone was playing a slow waltz on a piano. Raucous laughter and the clink of glasses came from the warmly lit, three-story tall building. "Michael, isn't it a little weird that I'm out here feeling like garbage while they're celebrating?"

"It'd make you madder if you knew why they were celebrating."

"Is it me?"  
"Yep."

Ezreal groaned. "I need a break. I haven't felt this sort of pain since I got trapped in a collapsed tunnel for a week and a half."

"Woah. No way."

"Yes, way."

"How did you live?"

Ezreal clenched his teeth as another white-hot pain surged through his legs – apparently all that running over The Rift had taken the biggest toll.

"Lots of bugs…but when I got out I was so dehydrated. Sort of like now. I feel like I'm coughing dust."

"I can carry you."

"Really?" Ezreal snatched a glance around him. He didn't see any champions. Being carried was humiliating but his muscles told him that to move anymore would be folly. Collapsing would be even worse. "Would anyone see?"

"I don't think so. Maybe a Void champion. We're a little ways from the Support rooms but they're opposite from the other carries."

Ezreal's eyes narrowed. "How did you know that's what I was worried about?"

Michael flinched. "I would've figured it out – they're your main competition – but Zandred told me how stupid they're being to you. Here –"

Ezreal shook his head. "If Ashe can walk back, so can I."

"Ashe also didn't play in all twenty matches today. Come here."

Ez stared at Michael's outstretched hand suspiciously, then shook his head. "I can get there with the same amount of help."

Michael looked disappointed but assumed the same position. "Let's go faster. It'll hurt but it'll be over with."

Ezreal gritted his teeth and struggled to keep up with Michael's pace. Daggers in his thighs – that's what it felt like.

He and Michael passed by the other Supports sitting outside the rooms. He saw their faces grow sympathetic as Michael burst through the door. Soft oil lamps threw dancing shadows of the giant tree over the walls.  
"Oh God –" Michael dropped Ez on the bed just as the worst cramp ran through him like a speeding train. The Rift's invigorating spells left him entirely.

Michael could actually see the muscles of Ezreal's right thigh knotting up. Ezreal bit the pillow and sweat rolled from his temples. A small wail escaped his mouth.

With his robes swishing behind him, Michael dashed out of their room towards the other Supports, calling Sona's name at the top of his lungs.

Graves' face and his drawl: "You play like a girl." Ezreal's mind wrapped around that quote, playing it again and again.

He fainted.

When he came to, Zandred, Merilyn and Michael were standing outside of his open door.

Behind them were Sona, Taric, Lulu, Nami, Karma and Soraka. Even with the dim light, Ezreal could see that they were worried.

He quickly assessed how he felt – something he was trained to do from countless survival situations. Shoulders: good. A little sore, but fine. Arms were the same. His head felt acceptable.

The pain in his legs had lessened, but fatigue still deadened them, made them feel useless.

And he still felt oily and grimy all over. Whatever the Supports had done, they hadn't bathed him. _I can do that myself, I hope. _

He leaned back to listen once more.

"—Don't care what you say! He has to be available for every match he's wanted. No other champion gets special permission to sit out – "  
"Venerable Summoner Merilyn, please. You saw the condition he was in –"

"Mother, if you make him play every time – "  
"If I make him play every time what, Michael? What possible insight could you have into the state of the League? Did playing your pathetic flute give you some remarkable piece of insight that I'm not privy to?"

"Merilyn, please!" Zandred shouted.

Michael shut his mouth with a snap. His grey eyes began to sparkle as his face grew flushed. But he looked at Ezreal and turned to face her. "My flute didn't, but I have common sense. If you run him into the ground, he's going to leave the Institute altogether. He already doesn't want to be here. We need to figure out a way to keep him safe and healthy."

"If you had any power at all, you would do it yourself, Michael. You'd influence him to stay here. But you don't, because you can't!"

"That's not true. It's inhumane to make him motivated while he's like this. He's not some toy to be tossed around!"

"You couldn't if you tried!" Merilyn snarled, blue eyes blazing. "That's why you'll never be a support."

"Merilyn, if I may – " Zandred moved in front of Michael to stop his mother's vicious assault.

"If_ I_ may." Taric's sonorous voice filled the supports' chambers. He lowered it to an intimate level. "Merilyn, your son has shown great promise at becoming a support. We are in the process of helping him hone his powers now. In fact, he should be able to join the League within a week or two. Him rooming with Ezreal may be most beneficial. But magic is a difficult thing to work with, and a difficult thing to control – something you don't have first-hand experience with. Not many Summoners do."

Ezreal smirked at the small dig. Merilyn winced.

Soraka spoke up. "Furthermore, while I'm sure we're all overjoyed at Ezreal's arrival at the League, you know, as do most Summoners, that he is unallied and thus has no true motivation to remain at the Institute. And perhaps to never be summoned again."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, Venerable Summoner Merilyn, that if you do not treat him better, we will tell him how to escape the clutches of the Rift." Soraka struck the floor with her crescent-moon staff. The sound echoed around the branches of the old tree, bouncing around the ceiling. "As a support, my first duty is to healing. And if you intend to mistreat this fine young man, then I will not stand for it. And neither will my fellow supports."

Ezreal listened with great interest. _How I can escape…?_ _But how? She's probably bluffing._

Merilyn stood silently.

"Very well…I see that my son has already turned you against me." Michael's mouth opened and closed again. Zandred looked at the ground. "So, what special provisions should be made for Ezreal?" She reached over and shut the bedroom door, cutting the sound.

Ezreal tiptoed to the bathroom and shrugged out of his dirty clothes. Mike would tell him about the provisions later; no need to eavesdrop. Besides, the dirt and grime was starting to make him feel antsy.

New pajamas – satin green and brown plaid pants and a shirt – were resting by the tub. Luckily the clothiers had gotten his size correct. He took a long, lavish shower, paying careful attention to his back and thighs. The supports' magic had done the trick. No more knots.

He got out of the tub and scrubbed his teeth and face. Then he took a long pull of water from the sink.

Resting on the right side of the sink was a small silver tin of warpaint. He had forgotten to put his customary triangles beneath his eyes.

_Jesus, they think of everything. Everything except giving me water breaks, that is. _He shook his head as his stomach let out a long, low growl. _Dinner breaks, too._

Michael was stretched out on his side of the bed, reading a journal containing an article Ezreal had published on Ionian artifacts. He rested it on his chest and met Ezreal's eyes, gray-green to blue. "I'm guessing you heard most of that discussion."

Ezreal shifted his weight. "Man, Mike. I had no idea your mom was such a bitch."

Michael snorted, then covered his face and started laughing. Soon he was cackling so hard that his face had turned bright red. Ezreal stood by the bed, grinning sheepishly.

"What's so funny?"

In between gasps, Mike said, "Just…she's fighting so hard for you and you call her a bitch…and this scholarly article, you sound so smart and…oh God." He wiped his eyes. "You're a mystery, sometimes."

"Expect the unexpected." He climbed onto the bed and leaned back. Regardless of how unpleasant the League itself could be, the beds, clothing and showers were amazing. "Did you guys come to any conclusions?"

"Besides the fact that my mother has no faith in me?"

"Yeah, besides that."  
"Well." Michael pinched the bridge of his nose in thought. "You are to be given at least five of the games off a day. We tried to get her to ten, but five was where she drew the line."

"That's a big improvement over no break at all."

"No kidding. Also, you don't have to spar in the mornings. Like, ever. But you have to train physically at least ten hours a week."

"What?"

"You gotta go to the gym. Get buff. And I have to go with you."

Ezreal chuckled. "You could use some muscle on those bones. Anything else?"

"Yeah. You have to spar every evening with me against an enemy bot lane at least once."

"But you said no sparring –"

"In the morning."

"Man." Ezreal closed his eyes. "That kinda blows."

"It shouldn't be that bad. The only way we could get you special provisions was the other supports and Zandred arguing that you and I are going to be the next big thing in bot lane."

Ezreal rolled onto his side. Michael looked at him. Ezreal could see depression and hope mingled on his face. Sad that his parents didn't believe in him. Happy that he and his favorite carry would be working together. _That's such a bittersweet combination. Poor guy. _

Aloud, Ezreal said, "I don't even know what your powers do."

Michael patted him on the shoulder. "You'll find out tomorrow."

Ez yawned, catlike, exposing large, white canines. "Good night, support."

"Good night, AD Carry."

Ezreal had fallen asleep long ago. He was snoring softly. Michael snuffed the last lamp, but rested on his back, staring at the ceiling with wide eyes. In his mind, the scene between he and Zandred began again.

After Ezreal's fifth match, Zandred cornered him in the Spectating Ring and pushed him against a wall in his anxiety. "Michael, I need your help." A few of the Summoners looked at them, but stared back at the glowing circle that showed parts of the Rift. "I know why none of the other Summoners went to Ezreal when he showed up. You have to help me keep him here or else your parents are going to kick me out of the League."

Michael had bit his lip. He had hoped that by wearing his father's robes, no one would notice him, as he was just another soul cloaked in silky violet. "What do you mean, Zandred?"

"Exactly what I said. I'm in charge of keeping Ezreal here. If he leaves, I'll get excommunicated."

"What? Why?"

"Because I went up to him. Oh, I shouldn't have done that." Zandred wrung his hands. "If he leaves they'll blame it on me. They want a scapegoat. I'll be done for. Michael, please say you'll help."

"Of course I will. I want him to stay, too." I can't believe they'd kick Zandred out, though. He's third in command.

Zandred darted furious glances around them and lowered his voice. "Your parents want me out because I'm trying to get you into the League."

Michael's jaw dropped. "What? What do you mean?" He knew he sounded like an echo in a dark cave, endlessly repeating the word "What?" "I thought they wanted me to get in."

Zandred shrugged helplessly. "I thought that too. But Darrigan was saying something about disobedience and Merilyn and Michael I just don't know what's going on. Please, just help me keep the boy here. He makes the Summoners so happy…"

Michael nodded. The confusion he felt in crowds was amplified by his own situation. _My parents are traitors,_ he thought. The thought was buried in the Summoners' rising cry of jubilation as Ezreal got a triple kill. _What is wrong with them? _

_ What have I done wrong? _


	8. Power Revealed

Ch 8: Buff

So it was a dream. A bad one. Only this one had never happened.

Ezreal looked down at his clothes. Somehow, magically, the old black costume he'd worn while slinking around the battlefield had stretched to fit his teenage body. One key difference – the red scarf around his neck was actually leaking blood in a steady drip, staining his pale hands with crimson.

He was surrounded by bonfires and charred bodies. Sona was lying next to Katarina, their necks bent at an unnatural angle.

Suddenly Jarvan IV was there, leaning down to shake his hand. His armor, too, was black and red. "And many thanks to Ezreal, for leading us to the Noxian Commanders." An army of soldiers (were they there a second ago?) raised their fists and shouted with triumph. Swain and Darius stood on a high, creaking wooden stand, the sky behind them scarlet and gray. They bowed to Jarvan. And then the blade of an unseen guillotine raced towards their necks. Ezreal flinched as their heads were cleanly severed. Darius' skull landed at his feet; his grey eyes stared up at Ezreal, pleading mutely for mercy.

He woke up to Michael shaking him, crouched over him. His dark hair tickled Ezreal's nose. Michael's wild eyes were inches from his face. Ezreal twitched.

"Good god. You have no idea how scary it is to be an empath, sometimes." Michael rolled off the bed and began stretching.

"Everyone has bad dreams sometimes," Ez said, trying to sound casual. His heart was still fluttering in his chest.

"Yeah, I know. But wow. Your dream was so vivid that I could see it." Michael balanced on one leg and lifted his arms over his head. Ez marveled at how little his muscles shook. "Seeing dreams is pretty rare."  
"How do you know you saw it? You could just be making it up." Ezreal flopped on to his stomach, finger-combing his hair.

The small, brown clock on his bedside table read 7:30AM. Not quite time to get up. Matches began at 9:00AM.

"It was about Darius and Swain being beheaded."

Ezreal raised his eyebrows.

"Yeah, it was. That's pretty creepy." Then, as nonchalantly as possible, he asked "Can you read my thoughts?"

"A little. Sometimes. I try not to, but it happens. Some of the Summoners around here are perverted."

"What do you mean?"  
"You should see what some of them imagine about you." Michael suppressed a laugh. "It makes me blush, sometimes."

"Geez. Is the Institute obsessed with me?" Ezreal leaned against the headboard. "If they aren't torturing me by making me fight in so many matches, they're stalking me."

"A lot of the people around here would die for a chance to be in a relationship with you." Michael shot Ezreal a meaningful look. "Something to keep in mind if you court any of the champions."

"What about you?"

Michael turned bright pink, faced away from Ezreal and continued his stretches. The different stances were essential to his mental and emotional balance, a crucial component of being a Support. Ezreal's warm, golden aura was already distracting, never mind him laughingly batting those long eyelashes at him.

"What about me?"

"You seem like a pretty big fan of Ezreal the Great." Ez flexed his arm sarcastically. He didn't have much muscle, and what he did was all lean, with no bulk.

"You're fantastic at League. Everyone likes you," Michael mumbled.

Ez smiled with satisfaction. _I don't know why I like toying with him. Poor guy already has enough on his plate, with his crappy parents and all._

Aloud he said, "I'm probably going to be too tired to do anything, but Sona's pretty cute."

"Mhm. Zandred said something about Katarina."

"She's cute, too."

"And Lux has about the biggest crush on you I think I've ever seen anyone have on anyone, ever."

A soft knock on the door. A figure cloaked in blue brought in a large fruit platter, accompanied by wheat cakes with a dish of honey. He thrust the silver plate onto the bed and hurried out.

"Room service?"

"Something Zandred, Merilyn and I worked out. Zandred mentioned you wanted it.

"Good lord. If I'd known all it took to get star treatment was to pass out, I would've done it sooner." Ezreal took a bite out of one of the cakes. "Their cooks must be from Piltover. Anyways, what's this about Lux?"

"Her crush on you is absurd." After stretching, Michael took a small case out of his nightstand. On it was an abstract portrait of Ezreal, all glossy, curling gold on a cobalt blue background. The clarinet itself shared the same color scheme.

The case was obviously far newer than the clarinet itself. If he hadn't been distracted by the instrument, Ez would've been flattered at the homage.

"Wow, Mike. That's gorgeous." Ezreal's historical side had taken over. Without thinking, he took the flute from the open case. Running his eyes and delicate fingers over it, Ezreal said, "Ionian in craftsmanship. Probably from two centuries ago."

Michael nodded and took it back. He began scale exercises, his fingers zipping up and down the keys effortlessly. He looked irritated at the thought of Lux. "But back to Lux's crush on you. She has posters of you. One of them is signed. She keeps your stats on a framed table next to her bed. Every score of every match you've ever played? She has it. And she has a plushie of you –"

"There's a plushie of me?"

"—And a toy replica of your glove. Also, we're pretty sure she has about 4000 pages of unsent love letters."

Ezreal was speechless. All his life he'd known he was somewhat attractive, but Lux's dedication to him was something new. And the idea of hundreds of Summoners who felt the same way… "Wow. I – I kinda feel like I should give her something back."

"If you don't like her, don't lead her on."

"I don't know if I like her or not." Ezreal furrowed his brow. "I've never even really talked to her."

"You're a loner," Michael said gravely.

Ezreal eyed him. Michael's eyes were closed, but his nimble fingers shuttled up and down the clarinet keys at amazing speed.

Something was definitely going on.

"How do you know that I'm a loner?"

Michael mouthed his clarinet. "I'm a big fan, too."

Nibbling another hotcake, Ezreal said, "How big a fan?"

Michael's fingers stopped.

Meeting Ezreal's eyes, he played a gentle melody that floated out their slightly-open window. Ezreal listened. A bird repeated it back, note for note.

"Let's just say I'm a pretty big fan." Michael closed his eyes and played another melody. The notes of the Ionian clarinet were high and sweet and crisp, like the stars seen at a mountaintop. Another song bird trilled the melody back. Soon, the bird and Michael were engaged in a duet.

Ezreal stared at him, fascinated. He bolted down the rest of the wheat cakes, the tiny pieces of cheddar and most of the fruit. Michael finished his song and regarded Ezreal with cool, grey-green eyes.

Mike was handsome. But so skinny and pale. So frail looking. No wonder his mother bossed him around.

"_That's _your power?"

"Part of it." Michael placed the instrument back in its case and drew a second one out of the drawer. This case was a flat, onyx black, as was the Ionian clarinet within. "The music Sona plays gives off auras. The Summoners told me that my music had to do something different. You can't have two champions do the exact same thing. So."

Michael put his lips to the instrument and blew.

At first nothing happened. The voice of this clarinet was darker, throatier. As Ezreal watched, a miniature Kog'Maw formed on Michael's lap, composed of slimy, shiny black strings of indeterminate material. Ez gasped.

The notes from the clarinet grew louder. In response, Kog's dark twin grew larger.

Then the alien waddled off of Michael's lap in an imitation of Kog'Maw's Icathian Surprise, exploding into a pile of black goo at the corner of the room. Ezreal laughed and clapped his hands.

"That's awesome!" Michael smiled around the mouthpiece of his horn. "Is that all you can make?"

With a flourish of notes, Michael summoned a black replica of Orianna's ball, three of Heimerdinger's turrets, Garen's sword, and Miss Fortune's guns. The objects whirled around in a sprightly gavotte. Ezreal watched in wonder as Soraka's staff danced before him. It was so black that it resembled a living shadow.

Michael stopped playing, and the objects collapsed. The goo dispersed after a few seconds.

"That's just for practice."

"That's cool." Ezreal scarfed most of the remaining fruit. "I can't wait to see what powers you bring to the Rift."

Mike's eyes shimmered with happiness, then grew darker. "Ready for an embarrassing tale from The Life of Michael?"

"We can trade them, if you like. I have plenty."

"One night, I was practicing my summoning skills. Because I've wanted to be part of the League for a long time, and I had to do something besides what Sona does, I worked on creating things, molding things."

Ezreal nodded, rolling off the bed. His stretches were far less complex than Michael's – he tried vainly to reach his toes.

"The other children of the Summoners have never particularly cared for me. Part of it was my magic gifts. I was also really good at school."

"So you were a dweeb."

"I'm still a dweeb." Michael laughed. "One night, I got particularly lonely –"

"Any story that has 'getting lonely' in it ends poorly. I'm just throwing that out there."

"So I practiced summoning things. And…well…" Michael frowned. His fingers began pressing the keys of the clarinet. Ezreal could tell that much of Michael's dexterity arose from his nervous habits. "The night it happened – I guess it was a full moon or something. So I was sitting on my window sill, playing Kyrliea – that's this black clarinet.

"All of a sudden, you appear. Well, not you. But a shadow form of you. It's the first perfect thing I've ever created. And it was perfect – had everything – your face down to the tiniest detail. Your clothes. Your smile.

"I quit playing, but you didn't go away for once. I guess my emotions – the loneliness - kept you there. So I talked to you. We–" Michael glanced at him and flushed slightly. "Well, we had a nice chat."

"And? That's just really weird, not embarrassing."

Michael blushed even harder. "Merilyn walked in while you and I were, uh, conversing."

Ezreal frowned, then realized what Michael was talking about. "So. You summoned a shadow clone of me and your mom walked in on you making out with it."

Michael nodded, biting his lip. Ezreal burst out laughing so hard that he had to wipe his eyes.

"Sorry if that's weird."

"Are you kidding?" Ezreal had to lean against a wall to catch his breath, still panting. "God, if I could summon stuff like that, that'd be the first thing I'd do. Shit, Mike. I'd have Sona AND Katarina at the same time. It'd be weird if you didn't summon people to hang out with. Sorry Merilyn caught you though."

Michael thought, _He dodged that one pretty well. Why did I tell him anyways? I'm so dumb._

"How long ago was this?"

"About two years ago. When I'd first seen you play a lot."

Ezreal shrugged. "Nothing wrong with summoning someone you admire. No need to feel weird about it." He rummaged through the new dresser, admiring the clothes the Institute of War had chosen for him. This blue shirt with gray jeans – still not really his style. But it would do.

While he changed his clothes and sketched out the triangles beneath his eyes, he thought of the seething mass of admirers he apparently had. And of Mike.

The thought of Michael summoning Ezreal was sweet, in a sad way, sort of like the melodies Michael spun from his clarinet.

Ezreal had never had friends. Only government officials and academics poring over his work, patting him on the head, but never treating him as an equal. Perhaps Michael had experienced something similar. Teachers applauding him as parents rushed to and fro, too busy to give him a second look.

The triangles were complete. They gave his face a lean and hungry look, distracting from his shining eyes and soft mouth. They made him look tough, something that helped out when you were facing hostile tribes.

Or fangirls.

Michael was changed into his Rift clothes. A tight white shirt and blue jeans. "That's what you wear on the Rift? It's kinda plain."

"The clothiers are working on some ridiculous bard costume right now. This'll have to do."

"Ready to kick ass?"

Michael grinned. "You bet." He pounded Ezreal's fist. "Race you to the Sparring Grounds!"


	9. Luxanna and Kat

The gym was tucked away in the corner of the Sparring Grounds beneath a dense canopy of trees. A few novice Summoners were tending flowerbeds nearby, their blue robes just as brilliantly colored as the spring blossoms. Spotting Ezreal, they started giggling and whispering behind their hands.

"I thought I was fit," Ezreal groaned, resting his hands on his knees. Without the spells from the Rift, running left him out of breath after five minutes.

"Guess you were wrong. Pretty sad that I'm fitter than an actual champion." Michael snorted. He didn't look fazed by the jog in the slightest.

After the elegant, stately layout of The Institute of War, the modernity of the gym sat strangely on Ezreal's eyes. It was lit by sodium lamps, a far cry from the warm, welcoming oil lamps throughout the rest of the Institute. And the machines looked futuristic. Obviously prototypes from Piltover.

He followed Michael through the lobby. "Do you know where we're going?"

"Merilyn said something about a personal trainer, but I have no idea."

Ez examined his surroundings. Through a large glass window, he could see the martial artists from Ionia warming up on a large yellow carpet. Though their eyes were supposed to be closed in concentration, Ezreal noticed Karma sneak a few longing glances at Yi, and smiled.

They passed a weight room. Graves was doing curl-ups with a look of intense concentration playing across his features. Next to him, Vayne pumped iron.

He and Michael stopped to watch Alistar and Malphite. With a huge grunt, Alistar hefted a four-hundred pound weight over his right shoulder, and roared in Malphite's direction. After beating his chest, Malphite upped him by throwing six-hundred pounds in air and catching it.

"I'll never be that strong. I don't even lift," Ezreal muttered. Truth be told, the farther he and Michael travelled through the center, the less fit he felt. He guessed he did have a tiny belly, and the muscles on his shoulders weren't all that impressive. No wonder the Carries thought he was a weakling.

Even Nami, who wasn't obliged to work out as a support, exercised on a water treadmill. Through the clear glass tub, Ez watched as harsh currents buffeted her fins. She sliced through the water like a warm knife through butter.

A voice assayed them. "Good morning! Are you lost?"

Ezreal had a brief moment of déjà vu; the tone of voice was similar to Zandred's.

A tall and incredibly buff man jogged up to them. He had the shaved head of a Summoner, and wore a more athletic version of the customarily purple robes. His deep bronze skin shone even under the unforgiving sodium lights.

He pumped Ezreal and Michael's hands enthusiastically. "Hey Ez. I'm Malik. Merilyn told me you might show up. Is this your first time?"

Ez nodded uncertainly. The sheer brightness of Malik's smile caught him off-guard.

"This way! Hey, Mike. Glad to see you, finally. Haven't seen you lately."

"Now that I'm training to be a champion, I haven't been able to hang out with mom and dad as much." Mike whispered to Ez, "Malik's an old family friend."

They passed another large windowed room. Inside, Garen and Darius pedaled exercise bikes, occasionally shooting each other dark looks. Ezreal reflected that the truce between Demacia and Noxus was a fragile one indeed.

Malik led them into his office, where he plopped into a well-worn office chair and folded his hands, still smiling.

Compared to the rest of the gym, his office was rather simple, containing only a desk and a lamp. The walls were papered with swimsuit posters and faded photographs, some of the champions, some of Summoners. Ezreal caught a glimpse of younger, happier, laughing Merilyn standing beside – Ezreal squinted – a tall, dark man he didn't recognize. A small radio played summertime tunes through its tinny speakers.

"Well, gentlemen. Welcome to the fitness center. I was informed that you two were to work out together ten hours a week. I'll be in charge of cataloguing that, so when you come to work out, let me know, alright?"

Still distracted by the pictures, Ezreal nodded distantly. A particularly tiny photograph caught his eye – Jarvan IV and Shyvana, wearing gold and blue armor, posed in front of a Demacian standard. Though they were supposed to be serious, both wore small smiles. And next to that, there was a picture of Draven chugging a bottle of Graggy Ice with Olaf.

"Since it's your first time, I need you guys to pick your photos."

Mike stared at Malik blankly. "Photos?"

"Oh, yeah. Standard procedure." Malik reached into a drawer and tugged out a large, faded binder. He flipped it open. Inside were hundreds of pictures of champions and Summoners, arranged alphabetically. Ezreal turned his attention there, shaking his head when Malik flipped through the E's. Predictably, pictures of Ezreal filled over five pages. "You're a pretty popular pick, Ezreal."

"I noticed."

"Wait. What's the point of this picture?"

"Everyone picks a picture that's visible during their training at all times. People pick rivals or goals. Sometimes they pick fitness idols. But, overwhelmingly, I've discovered that most people pick a crush or romantic interest. You're up, Mike."

Michael shifted uncomfortably, glancing at Ezreal. "What do you have besides champs and Summoners?"

Malik nodded, flipping towards the "goals" section. The pictures were mostly of various cup tiers. Gold, silver, bronze, platinum…"I guess since you're still technically a Summoner, you can have one of these for now. But when you become a champ, you gotta pick a champ. Ok, kid?"

"Ok." Mike pointed to the gold emblem and took it gratefully.

"Yeah, cup tiers aren't particularly inspiring for a champion, given that you guys don't have tiers assigned to you. That's purely a Summoner thing. What about you, Ezreal?"

Malik flipped to the "K-L" section. Ezreal bit his lip thoughtfully.

Katarina's exotic beauty enchanted him, but given her job as an assassin, he found her…intimidating? Frightening? She unsettled him. And he had no idea how much older she was than him.

Sona was nice, but he wasn't sure they shared many interests. Besides, she wasn't very social, preferring to spend her time strumming her etwahl, or reading poetry, or swapping gossip with Soraka and Taric.

After careful consideration, Ezreal tapped a picture of Lux. She posed against a palm tree on a beach somewhere, wearing huge sunglasses, a warm smile, and a miniscule white bikini that showed off her tight thighs and trim stomach. The sun had bestowed a smattering of freckles across her nose.

_She's adorable_, Ezreal thought. _And she has a crush on me. How can this get any better?_

Malik smiled more widely, if that was possible. "Romantic interest?"

"Fitness idol," Ezreal growled.

"Sure! Right this way again!" He took them to a locker room, where they changed into athletic pants and shoes that had been prepared for them. The clothiers were fantastic guessers.

When they walked out, Malik looked at Michael's shirtless torso and whistled. "Man, you are white."

"I know. I can't help it."

"I mean, like _white_." Michael blushed. "Sorry, kid. I'm just messin'." Malik reached up and ruffled Michael's hair. "You'll be fit and gorgeous in no time."

Malik's enthusiasm was infectious. Ezreal found a slight spring in his step.

Or maybe it was the picture he'd had to pick.

_ I should really get to know her better. She's a Demacian general. I could learn a lot of history from her primary acc-_

He and Michael stopped and gaped at the room that Malik led them too.

A double row of treadmills was occupied by just about every female champion from the League.

Diana darted behind Leona and snapped her butt with a towel. "Looks like the sun isn't the only thing that's really round!"

"You're just jealous because you're flat-chested!" Leona snarled, upping the speed on her treadmill.

LeBlanc, looking naked and vulnerable without her makeup and costume, smirked as Fiora had to slow her pace. "Demacia's grand duelist feeling her age?"

"I actually have to carry some muscle weight, unlike a certain skeleton I know," Fiora sneered. Zyra and Elise kept the same pace on their custom treadmills, shouting encouragement to one another.

In the middle of the front row, Lux and Katarina faced off, racing at breakneck speed. Lux's turquoise shorts bobbed next to Katarina's longer, black ones. Ezreal espied his picture on the right of Lux's treadmill. It was from _Piltover Monthly, _featuring his red ascot and a deep white v-neck. He flushed. Katarina's picture was Draven wearing a loincloth.

_Oh my God, what have we gotten in to?_

Michael put his hands on his hips. "It seems to me that cardio is a girl thing."  
"You got that right! Merilyn told me to make sure you work out with the chicks."

"Why?!"

"Apparently the male champions are fairly hostile to Ezreal. She thought you two might be received better by the other half of the League. Plus, she wants you to focus on cardio to prevent leg cramps."

Lux looked over her shoulder, then did a double take, blue eyes widening in shock. As if in slow motion, Ezreal saw her shift her footing, her right ankle curling at an unnatural angle. She began to lose her balance. The treadmill carried her backward, about to fling her into Leona's arms.

Without thinking, he Arcane Shifted forward, appearing behind her. His arms wrapped around her upper torso, steadying her. She was a warm, soft weight in his arms. She smelled of sweat and coconut body lotion and palm trees. Instinctually, she leaned her head against his chest.

For a moment, all was silent, suspended in a vacuum. Malik sprinted towards him, looking terrified. He was screaming something – Ezreal could tell by his wide eyes and flapping mouth.

"NO MAGIC!" Malik was shouting over and over again, staring around him, waiting for Bouncing and Zenith blades and Sigils to go streaking through the air.

"Can it, Malik," Katarina said calmly. She switched off her treadmill, as did the rest of the female champions. "You know no one really cares about magic. Especially not mobility spells." Demonstrating, she Shunpo'd onto Michael. "Well, well, well. It's The Plodding Explorer, and his sidekick, Skeletron," she breathed into his ear. Michael shivered.

Malik took deep breaths to calm himself. "Sorry. It's just – that's one of the biggest rules."

"Understandable," Ezreal said quietly. "I won't do it again."

"Don't hurt yourself." Katarina smirked at Mike.

"Kat." Malik scrubbed at his temples. "Can you be nice to the son of the top Summoners in the League?"

"Sure. I can get to know him better."

"That's not what I said – "

"Water break!" Katarina exclaimed. "Come with me, pretty boy." She tugged Michael's arm. He followed her, wide eyed.

Malik took another deep breath. The other female champions turned their treadmills back on, and the sound of feet started up. They were watching Lux intently, trying to hide their grins.

"Luxanna, Venerable Summoner Merilyn is making Ez go to the gym. Can Ezreal work out next to you?"

Lux smiled self-consciously. She wasn't wearing any makeup and her hair was a mess. Leave it to Merilyn to create embarrassing situations for everyone involved. In the female circles, she was renowned for her sheer bitchiness.

And of course Ezreal always looked perfect. Tousled blond hair, tan skin, slim stomach, and those triangles under his eyes.

"Of course!"

Malik answered her smile and bowed. "Take good care of him. I know you will."

She turned to Ezreal with elaborate casualness. "So, Wonderboy. Are you gonna be my gym buddy?"

"That'd be awesome," Ez said, relieved.

"Who's your picture of?" She pulled the photograph out of Ezreal's slightly-cupped hands. "Oh my goodness."

"You, uh, look really hot in that picture." Ezreal blushed so hard that Lux thought he was about to faint.

"That's very flattering," she said nonchalantly. Inside, happiness was bubbling up her throat like uncorked champagne. She wondered if she was dreaming. There had been plenty of dreams like this.

Ezreal climbed on to the machine next to hers, putting her picture on the right side. His pace was slow and measured. Lux matched it to make him feel less self-conscious.

"I was wondering if we could hang out at some point."

"Seriously?"

"Yeah. I'm a historian –"

"The best, of course. I've read all of your stuff. Your work on Noxian armor is fascinating."

"Thanks. But anyways, I was wondering if I could interview you about Demacian battles."

"Tactics? There are a couple of books on them…"

"No, more of, like, a human interest angle. You know – Luxanna's experiences on the battlefield." He met her blue eyes with his. They mesmerized her, reminded her of watching the sunlight glitter on the ocean. "I want to know what you thought, how you handled it…what you felt. I think it would be fascinating."

Her pulse fluttered in her throat, in her wrists, in her chest. She swallowed hard. "I'd love that." She didn't notice the smiles breaking out all around the room.

"That is _so_ sweet," LeBlanc whispered to Diana. It had to be really sweet for a hardened Noxian to think so.

"It's like _The Demacian Chambermaid_," Zyra sighed, naming a popular romance novel.

"He forgot his suit of armor and his white horse," Riven muttered. She upped the speed on her treadmill, not meeting the eyes of the photographs hanging on her, Leona, LeBlanc, Diana and Elise's machines. Ezreal smiled out of all of them, but nothing matched his exuberant grin as he talked to Lux.

In the lounge, Katarina was approaching things a little differently.

Munching on an apple, she circled Michael. "You look a little nervous."

"I feel a little nervous."

"Good. Guess I haven't lost my touch." She tossed the core of the apple in the trash and sat across from him.

"Nice throw."

"Thanks." She walked her fingers across Michael's collarbone. "Merilyn told me that I was to be your gym buddy last night. What's up with the sudden fitness craze?"

Michael leaned back in his chair. "She's mad about Ezreal's special treatment. He gets games off."

"So?"

"So she's punishing me by making me work out."

"Fitness is good for you. Good for your heart." She spread her fingers across Michael's chest. Her hand filled him with an icy chill.

"It's punishment all the same."

"Because you like Ezreal more than her, yes. So you're here because you're doing what your mother told you to do?"

"Yes."

"What a wimp." Katarina laughed and blew a strand of red hair out of her face. "If I did what my mother told me to do, I'd still be cleaning Cassiopeia's room and washing dishes."

"Your mother probably wasn't second in command at the Institute of War."

Katarina's eyes glinted in anger that was quickly suppressed. "You look more Noxian than Demacian, Mike. Has anyone ever told you that?"

Mike shifted uncomfortably."What do you mean?"

"Look." Katarina tugged on his black hair. "You're dark. You're tall." She drew a finger across his jaw bone. "You're pale. And your build. Your shoulders." She placed a hand on each of them to demonstrate. "You practically scream Noxian."

"I'm Demacian."

"Pfft." Katarina licked her lips. "And I'm Wukong's uncle."

"I have to be," Michael said plaintively. His gray-green eyes pleaded with Kat. "Merilyn is Demacian. She's blonde haired and blue eyed. So is Darrigan –"

"You look so much like them, don't you? And you have their talents for bravery and leadership. No artistry at all. One of your powers_ totally_ isn't influencing people. Right." Katarina rolled her eyes. "Demacians are so boring, with their wholesomeness. People like you and I walk the boundary between shadow and light."

"What are you saying?"

Katarina drew a dagger from the pocket of her long shorts and waved it under Michael's nose. He flinched. "Let's just say not everything is what it seems. Let's just say that maybe Noxians aren't the bad guys. Demacians might not be the good guys. And let's just say that maybe – just maybe –" she leaned into Michael's face, as if to kiss him – "The Institute isn't as unbiased as it claims to be."

Her breath was cool and minty.

"There are problems here, Michael."

"Why are you telling me this –"

"Why aren't you a champion yet? Hmm?" Katarina leaned back, tossing the dagger from hand to hand. "You've been in training for over eight months. The Institute is apparently desperate for champions, yes? And you actually want to be one, unlike your handsome Piltover friend. So, why aren't you one?"

Michael paused. "I – I don't know."

Katarina's eyes narrowed like a cat's. "I do. But you won't believe me yet. And as they say in Noxus, 'truth without belief is nothing. Belief without truth is everything'."

Michael sat very still. A tear formed in his right eye. He hurriedly looked away from Katarina.

Her face grew sympathetic. "No, no, it's okay. I remember when I first learned the truth. I wept for days. Come on." She tugged him out of his chair. "Let's go work out, gym buddy."

Michael stumbled after her, shaking his head. He tried not to think of what she was implying. And how all he had felt from her was sincerity – painful sincerity.


	10. Divide

For as many years as Ezreal could remember, the world had been divided into opposite, polarizing forces. One half belonged to the Demacians. The image of the Demacian footsoldier - crisp golden hair, chiseled smiling face, glowing blue eyes - was plastered all over cities. They were known for leadership, honesty, and brute strength.

The other half was the demesne of the Noxians. True, there were other factions. The Frostguard, the creatures from Zaun. But Noxus was the only true force that could contend with Demacia - the inky, answering darkness steadily engulfing Demacia's beacon of justice.

The Noxians were enigmatic. Cruel. Heartless. Pale. Dark-haired and dark eyed.

Whereas Demacian soldiers would rush headfirst at an obstacle, working to demolish it from the outside, Noxians would steal in and cause corruption from the inside out.

For Noxians, power wasn't strength so much as influence, and the ways they influenced were many.

The right thing said to the right person. A beautiful woman in soft blue silk. Delicate pastries from the Void. It was amazing what a person would do for luxury.

Still, thought Ezreal, darkness was not all bad. Though unspeakable horrors coiled within the night, it was only through darkness that one could see the pale, milky light of the stars. It was in the darkness that Ezreal had made many of his greatest archaeological discoveries, crouched over hidden tombs beside guttering oil lamps.

He didn't think like to think about it.

Ezreal fought his final Rift match around two o'clock. The Purple Nexus fell to super minions just as the Purple team respawned. With a victory shout, he fired a dazzling Trueshot Barrage and pounded Nasus' paw. The grizzled champion looked at his paw in surprise.

As Ez strode out of the Rift, he was greeted by a cloud of Summoners, purple robes swishing all around him. Darrigan and Merilyn must have lifted the ban on communicating with him. He largely ignored their cries of "Why aren't you playing in every match?" and "I'm your biggest fan!" and "Could you sign this, please?"

He wasn't in the mood to explore his fame. His ten matches had been consecutive. Nonstop action. Sweat streamed from his forehead in a steady drip, and, after jogging for five miles with Lux earlier, his legs throbbed. But this was a different pain, sweeter somehow.

He caught a glimpse of Lux standing beside Michael and Katarina on the edges of the crowd. Lux was beaming, Ezreal noticed. Lord, her smile was as bright as her Ultimate ability.

Michael stood gnawing on his nails, looking defensive. Ezreal guessed that he was worried about fighting their first duels later that night. After all, it was one of his first opportunities to prove to everyone at The Institute that he had what it took.

_I hope he does get in. I think we'd make a great team._

He jogged over to Lux. "Hey!"

"That last triple kill was awesome!" she gushed. "High five!"

He slapped her hand, holding on to it for a moment. "They killed me, though." His mouth still felt strange, shaping the word "killed". It made his tongue go numb.

"Both carries ignited you," Katarina remarked quietly. "Someone had to shut you down eventually. Even if you are our resident Explorer."

Ez did a quick study of her, but the assassin was impossible to read. "It won't happen next time. Are you and Lux, ah, friends?"

"Actually, I guess we are." Kat looked at Lux, confused. "Weird, huh? A Noxian and a Demacian."

"Now that you mention it, we do hang out quite a bit. She's fun to get coffee with."

"She gets mad 'cause I counter her. Don't you, cutie?" Kat poked Lux in the ribs with a sly smile.

Lux stamped her foot. "You don't counter me!"

"Then why do I win all the time, huh?"

"That's crazy! I swear that -"

Lux and Kat started quarreling. Ezreal grinned, but his smile faded as he looked to Michael. His gray-green eyes were uncharacteristically dark. Even having only known him for three days, Ez knew that something was incredibly wrong.

"Mike. You going to be okay for tonight?" _Come on, buddy. You've been preparing for this forever. Don't flake out now. _

Ezreal knew all about hard work and its rewards. Being Piltover's Grandmaster Explorer wasn't something that happened over night. It was never good to lose sight of one's goal, especially not as one neared its completion.

"Hmm?" Mike removed his thumbnail from his lips. "Oh. The League. That's right."

Ezreal punched him softly in the arm. "You don't seem that excited."

Michael shook his head. "Guess I'm a little nervous. Do you guys want to grab dinner?"

"Dueling for you two is at seven tonight, right?" Kat looked at her small silver wristwatch. "Let me and Lux get all dolled up, and we'll meet you guys at Central Fountain. Five sound good?"

"Where?"

"Where?" Lux asked, laughing. "Aren't you the one who always says 'Who needs a map?'"

"Hey!" He playfully swatted her shoulder. "I haven't had time to explore yet, alright?"

Michael interrupted their playful banter. "I know where it is. You can just follow me." Without another word, he began shuffling off towards their rooms, his dark gray robes whispering around his feet. Ezreal stared after him, a small knot of worry forming deep in his stomach.

"What'd you do to my roommate, Kat?" Ezreal asked, half-jokingly.

Katarina shrugged. "What he tells you is up to him. We don't like speaking for people here."

"No one does at the Institute of War, I guess."

"True." Katarina spat into the dirt. "Saying the wrong thing can hurt people."

Ezreal shifted his weight as a chill slid down his spine. He unconsciously readied his gauntlet. Katarina's tone foretold danger. He just didn't know what direction it was coming from.

And unlike on The Rift, this danger could have consequences.

"What are you talking about, Katarina?" Lux asked. Her blue eyes, like Ezreal's, were shimmering with worry.

Katarina opened her mouth to speak. Suddenly Ezreal saw the deep, sensual attraction that Noxians could hold. Her pomegranate lips, her porcelain skin, her dark brows...for a moment, Lux's summery beauty didn't beckon to him.

Before she could say anything, Katarina snapped her mouth shut, looking over Ezreal's shoulder. The Explorer whirled. Swain and Darius towered over him.

Deja vu nearly engulfed him. Swain and Darius hardly looked older, though spots of gray were beginning to shade the hair on Darius' face, and Swain's expression had grown even more sour.

Though the two showed no intentions of harming him, Ezreal still waited for Darius to grab his wrist once more. He'd Arcane Shift away. He'd slaughter them both, if he had to.

"Ezreal," Swain said calmly. "Lux." The two Noxians bowed, ignoring Ezreal's combat stance. Then the commander addressed Katarina. "Katarina, you are to join Darius and I immediately. Understood?"

The assassin froze for a moment. Then she bowed deeply, exposing a dagger and holding it over her left shoulder in supplication. "I understand, my lord."

"See to it that you appear. We require your presence." Swain and Darius took their leave, Darius' dark cape swirling behind him. The Noxian general threw one more glance at Ezreal over his shoulder, then shook his head slightly.

Lux broke the tense silence, unsurprisingly. "Wow, they never let you have a break, do they? What's the meeting for?"

"No idea," Katarina muttered. "Evidently not important if they'll announce it in front of a Demacian general, am I right?" She sounded incensed. Without another word, she darted off towards the Noxian quarters, in pursuit of Swain and Darius.

"I forget there's still a war going on," Ezreal commented, dazed. He ran a hand through his golden hair. "God, I'm tired. The last thing I want to think about is warfare."

"Why's that?"

"War is awful. I've seen the battlefields."

"Oh, Ezreal. Sometimes war is the most exciting thing in the world, though. And sometimes it's the worst." She clasped her hands over her heart and sighed.

_Exciting? There's more to her than I thought_...Ezreal shook his head. This was all too confusing to think about right now. "I'll catch you at dinner, Lux."

"Not if I catch you first. Later, Ez."

Michael didn't know if there were terrible things occurring, or if his own emotions were influencing the morbid blend of his thoughts. Lying in bed staring blankly at the ceiling, he felt that the world was steadily falling apart, chipping at the edges. He wondered if this was how the beings from the Void felt all the time, and shuddered.

The door creaked open and Ezreal slipped inside the room. His golden aura soothed Michael temporarily.

"What's wrong, Michael?" As Ezreal approached him, the aura around the explorer grew warmer, glittering with sympathy. _If only everyone could see what I saw_, Michael thought. _It's so beautiful._

"I'm not sure. I sense something going on within the Rift, but I can't make it out."

"Is it what Katarina said to you earlier? What was that, by the way?"

Michael sat up with great effort. After a moment, he decided to tell Ezreal the truth. "Katarina thinks that Merilyn and Darrigan aren't my real parents, and that I'm actually Noxian."

Ezreal didn't react the way that Michael expected him to. No shocked gasp or smoking hatred.

"I guess that bothers you, huh?"

"Of course. Everyone knows that Noxians are horrible people."

Ezreal scoffed. "I don't think so."

"You don't?"

"I think it's unfair to judge an entire group of people. I also think that a lot of Noxus' terrible image has been created by Demacia, to serve their own purposes." Ezreal removed his shirt and tossed it into a nearby hamper. "Don't get me wrong - Noxus' society is very cruel and unforgiving. Many people would argue that it's unjust. In a way, it can be.

But for there to be a war, there have to be at least two sides competing, right? And that means that Demacians have slain people too, Michael. Both sides are full of killers."

Michael intently watched Ezreal's golden aura, now shot through with dark striations. "So me being Noxian wouldn't change your opinion of me?"

"Of course not. I judge people based on who they are, not who their parents are or where they come from." The Explorer offered Michael a sunny smile. "Besides, if everyone was the same, wouldn't the world be a boring place? Think about everyone acting like Merilyn."

Michael attempted to speak, but found that his throat was blocked by emotion. His favorite champion's kindness, his uncertain heritage...too overwhelming.

Finally he could say, "Thank you, Ezreal."

"Not a problem. You should probably practice a little for our scrim tonight. I'm counting on you."

"I'd say the same for you, but I know you'll be great." Michael pulled his black Ionian clarinet from his nightstand and tried to lose his worries in its rich, dark sound.

Ezreal might not be telempathic, but he could still feel Michael's nervousness. And he echoed it, for different reasons. Namely due to his impending dinner with Lux.

Not even his biggest fans knew about his mild social anxiety. To others, he projected the perfect image of confidence - and why not? He was smart, attractive, and powerful.

Still, the deep feeling of unworthiness clung to him. He always feared saying the wrong thing, laughing too loudly, being annoying. That was why he studied other people so closely, reading their emotions and mirroring them.

He didn't like to think about it.

He showered a lot more often at the Institute of War, he reflected. Hygiene in the field was usually sitting beneath a waterfall or quickly stripping and diving into a river. Cleaning up in the wild had its dangers. Sharp rocks and unknown aquatic life had left a few scars along his back. But the risks of being dirty demanded that he wash off at some point...

He wondered idly if he would ever return to exploring. If the Institute of War was going to last throughout the ages. If he could really stand to live this comfortably after so many years on the run - from people, from himself.

The high-pressure shower pounded his body, massaging the ache from his muscles. Much better. He'd probably tell Merilyn he could do up to fifteen matches a day.

Maybe, once he got fit, he could do every single one. That would make people happy. There would be less socializing. The only talk on the Rift was shouted commands and insults.

His mind drifted back to Piltover, a few months before the incident with Darius and Swain. He remembered his advisor - a small man with a bushy white mustache - asking him, "What do you want from life, Ezreal? What do you really want?"

"What?"

His advisor had taken off his round glasses and peered into his eyes. "Think about what you really want. Because you can achieve it. You're smart enough and strong enough. Not many twelve year olds can map an entire region underground. So what do you want from life? Do you want power, fame, glory? Do you want to be a soldier?" Ezreal had hurriedly shook his head. "Do you want to be respected, feared, loved? Now is a good time to decide."

Twelve-year-old Ez thought hard, looking at the ground. This question wasn't something he could look up in a book.

"I want...I want to be happy."

"Is that all?"

"Yes sir."

"And what makes you happy?"

"Exploring."

"Then do so."

And Ezreal had.

Lux was worried, too, though she tried not to show it.

The Demacian quarters were among the largest structures at the Institute of War. Gold and blue banners flapped from poles outside. The largest marble statue on the grounds, three times taller than Garen, rested in a fountain. It was a knight, a depiction of one of Demacia's bravest warriors, who had fallen after many battles to the hand of Noxus. He died shortly before Lux joined the forces.

His name was Garamond. A huge sword rested on his right soldier. His gaze (unusually expressive for a marble work) looked bravely towards the rising sun. Water washed over him with a continuous roar.

Lux spent many hours perched on the side of the fountain, reading up on tactics or the latest news. Sometimes, when no one was around, she spoke to him. She considered him a good luck charm despite his death.

Before rushing into her room, she glanced furtively around, and then whispered to Garamond, "Please, oh please let me make a good impression tonight."

The statue didn't respond, of course, but she thought his expression softened slightly. She had no doubt that, had she met Garamond, they would have been great friends. So thinking, she rushed past a knot of Demacians in the lobby towards her room before they could stop her.

The Demacian quarters were one of the few that attracted Summoners just as well as champions. The meeting in the lobby was fairly large, and she probably should've stopped by, but she had more important things to attend to. Seeing her brisk walk, no one stopped her.

She flung open her door. The rumors about her Ezreal memorabilia were true. A stack of magazines featuring every article that mentioned him sat next to her bed. The posters covering her wall all featured his smiling face. A logbook documenting his every score at the Rift rested on her bedside table.

She hid all she could in her closet. Working carefully, so as not to rip them, she rolled the posters up and placed them gently behind her clothes.

Then she fled to the shower and scrubbed herself so thoroughly that her skin turned pink.

Her mind was unable to fully process what was happening. A date with Ezreal? Surely she had gone crazy at last, from battle fatigue most likely.

After showering and straightening her hair, she surveyed her cosmetics.

Spending most of her time fighting had left little time for feminine luxuries. Her makeup supply was sorely lacking.

Still, she managed to shade her eyes with a smoky gray. Light mascara emphasized their blue color. They looked like tiny pieces of captured sky. Nude lipgloss, a white tanktop and tight jean shorts completed her look.

She gasped when she looked at her watch. It was already 4:45.

"I can't be late!" she exclaimed to herself. Her legs itched to break into a run as she strode out of her room. She knew the sweat would ruin her hair and makeup, and had to settle for a fast walk.

The meeting in the lobby between the Summoners and Demacians was still going on when she passed by them, though their voices were much more muted. She caught sight of Garen looking incredibly serious, resting his chin in his hands.

Oh well. Whatever it was, he'd surely tell her about it later, right?

Besides, even the war in Demacia wasn't as important as meeting with her biggest crush.

Katarina didn't have time to let her worry sink in. Darius unceremoniously flung her against the wall of her private quarters. She cried out and crumpled to the ground.

The general strode towards her, towering over her.

"Why did you tell him, Katarina? What possible reason could you have?" He snatched her by the hand, but she vanished and reappeared on her bed, dagger at the ready. It whizzed towards Darius, but bounced off of Darius' armor with a small _ping_.

He was by her side in a flash. His enormous hand closed around her upper arm, and he dragged her outside of her room, where Swain was waiting. Before she could recover, he slapped her, hard. The pain exploded behind her eyes in a burst of fireworks.

Noxians didn't hold to a chivalric code. Every member of the Noxian army was treated equally, and that treatment included equal physical punishment.

Darius raised his hand again, but Swain stopped him. "That's enough. Especially considering I didn't give you permission to hurt her."

The general withdrew, but the insane hatred that drove him was clearly visible on his face. He snarled. "She's trying to get us all killed!"

"On the contrary," Swain said smoothly. "I believe Katarina's move was for the good."

"How?" Darius roared. Katarina flinched and immediately felt ashamed for showing fear. "How could telling that simpering boy anything be good?"

"Because that boy happens to be friends with Ezreal. And Ezreal happens to be a figure of enormous power and influence." Swain rested both of his hands on his cane and looked at Katarina. "Was that not your reasoning?"

Katarina rubbed her face, hoping it wouldn't bruise. "Yes, it was. Michael is the only person thus far that Ezreal seems to trust."

"Michael and Ezreal shouldn't trust anyone," Swain reflected. "Neither should we."

"That is true, but Michael is particularly weak and malleable due to his empathic qualities." Katarina struggled to stand up. To her shame, she had to rely on the wall for support. "Besides, he loves the League, and when he learns that it is rotting from the inside out -"

"That's enough!" Darius shouted. The spacious Noxian quarters reverberated with the force of his shout.

Katarina formed her numb face into a sneer. "Are you in denial? There have been many signs, not the latest of which is that Michael is not being permitted to join the champions -"

"And why else would they threaten Zandred with expulsion if he does not make Ezreal allies with Demacia?" Swain added. It was rare that he would agree with anyone besides Darius.

"Even at its very core, the League is corrupt. Why do you think the entire board of Summoners is Demacian? And how else would they end the war than by exterminating the Noxians as they sleep?" Katarina laughed. "I'm sorry you're delusional. Besides, I didn't tell him anything. I merely suggested it."

Swain looked smug. "I'm sorry that the truth isn't compatible with your personal interests, Darius."

"What personal interests?" Katarina's eyes narrowed. "What? Are you buying stock in Demacia's armies?"

Darius' eyes widened. "Don't tell her."

"Why not? Perhaps I'll merely suggest it to her." Swain turned to Katarina, ignoring Darius' distress. "Perhaps Darius isn't always as much of a loner as he appears. Perhaps he engaged in a tryst with a certain high ranking League official. And perhaps that tryst resulted in an offspring, one who is currently seeking to join the League as a champion."

Katarina's mouth fell open. She looked to Darius, who turned his head in disgust. "You're kidding!"

Swain shook his head. "I advise you keep this a secret from all parties involved until the time is right. Only the three of us know. Well, four of us," he added, with a pointed look at Darius. "And I trust you'll know when the time is right."

"Of course, my lord." She bowed again. "Though, if I may speak frankly, I'm surprised that Darius would find such a frigid bitch attractive."

"His decisions prior to his service are not my prerogative, nor yours, Katarina." Swain struck the ground with his cane and trotted off, leaving Darius and Katarina alone.

She eyed him boldly. "He is quite handsome. He has your looks."

Darius bowed his head. "She was different when she was younger. Before Darrigan got to her. They were betrothed, you know. She didn't want to marry him."

Katarina wanted to pelt him with insults, words that would hurt as much as his slap had. But the general's tone was simply too sad. "She would have made an odd Noxian."

"She is – was – Noxian in everything but birth and looks. I suspect she may be Noxian in everything, when this is over. If we aren't all dead, that is."

He stalked off, leaving Katarina to nurse her wounds in private. Now that no one was looking, the tears of pain that she hid rose to her eyes and slid down her cheeks. But no one would see them in public. Not now, not ever.


	11. Mounting Tension

"Are you sure about this, Zandred?" Michael looked into the full-length mirror, nonplussed.

"Absolutely, Michael. Every champion on the Rift has to have a costume that differs slight from, ah, every day wear."

"Ezreal gets to wear a hoodie and I'm stuck in this," Michael muttered. Ezreal snickered.

"I thought you'd be more excited to get the chance to prove your worth at last. I suppose I was wrong," Zandred sniffed.

"It's not that. It's just – I'm going out to dinner with Katarina, and I look like a low budget version of Talon."

Zandred's eyes widened slightly. Michael didn't notice, but Ezreal did, and frowned in thought. " Did you say Katarina? As in the Noxian assassin? What will your mother think?"

Michael scowled.

"He's going with me and Lux as well, Zandred. It'll be fine. He's trying to get me to socialize with the champions. All for the good, right?" Ezreal offered, along with a bright smile. "I mean, surely I'm more likely to stay at the Institute if I make friends, and that's your whole goal, right?"

Zandred smiled back uncertainly. "I and the rest of the Summoners would love for you to remain. I suppose I'll meet you and Michael at the entrance of the Sparring Grounds at 6:45."

"We'll see you then."

Zandred bowed deeply and hurried away, doubtlessly rushing to report Michael's dinner-date to Merilyn.

Ezreal waited a beat, then said, "I actually kinda like it."

"I suppose." The costume that the clothiers came up with for Michael was so dark it hurt to look at. His chest piece and shoulders were covered by muted silver on plates of blackest ebony, emphasizing his tall stature and broad shoulders. All the black brought out Michael's gray-green eyes, drawing attention to them. They were the only spots of color that weren't black, white or silver.

Ezreal was sure of one thing – he would hate to encounter a champion looking like Michael on the Rift. He looked scary.

Noticing Ezreal's avid gaze, Michael said, "This would be more fitting for you, honestly, as a carry."

"Why's that?"

Michael chuckled. "I'm going to look all badass on the battlefield, like Darius or something, then I'm going to whip out my clarinet and start playing music at them. The image just cracks me up a little."

Ezreal paused, then added, "I can sort of understand what Katarina was talking about."

"Do I look Noxian?"

Ezreal looked at him from head to toe. Look Noxian? No, more than that. Michael looked as if he'd stepped out of a book on the Dark Knights, one of Noxus' ancient factions. In fact, Ez remembered the exact book he recalled the illustration from – _Of Bloodshed_, by Casteel White, a Noxian historian. The armor, the intent gaze, the dark hair…

"I think they wanted you to."

Michael groaned. "But why?"

"I'm not sure," Ezreal said slowly. "But at least you look cool. Let's go to dinner."

Michael could feel peoples' reactions to him. That was, perhaps, the worst part.

Today should have been so happy. Ezreal walked next to him, excited to eat dinner with Lux and to duel with Michael.

As for the costume, it was quite comfortable and fit him well. His Ionian clarinet was tucked behind the breastpiece, next to his thudding heart. As he walked by, the eyes of the Summoners invariably shifted first to Ezreal, then to him.

Still he felt out of place, impossibly tall. People bowed as he and Ezreal passed, and behind them, whispered rumors began to circulate. _Ezreal…Noxians…_He sensed dread, as mottled and red as dried blood.

They were scared that the boy by his side had deserted them. Even though Ezreal was entirely unaffiliated, people pretended he was Demacian. After all, he was blonde and perfect. Why would side with Noxians? The race of outsiders, of hate?

The fear saddened him. All he wanted from life was to make people happy. He had failed there, he knew.

His parents. Darrigan found his son confusing, unknowable. Michael's gift for music baffled the jolly Summoner, who couldn't carry a tune any farther than a thousand pounds of concrete. Darrigan was always loud and smiling. Michael's reserved nature worried him.

And Merilyn. He didn't know why he couldn't make her happy, but he never could. He remembered bringing her a flower when he was smaller, determined to win her approval. She had been sitting at their kitchen table in Demacia, staring into space, wearing nothing but a bathrobe and fluffy slippers.

Michael timidly pressed the blossom into her hand and bowed, waiting for a reaction. A small smile, a thank you. Anything.

Instead, she ripped the petals from the bloom one by one, then crushed them, then flung them into Michael's face. She hadn't said anything, but the hatred smoldering in her eyes was eloquence enough.

By the time the pair arrived at Central Fountain, Michael was thoroughly depressed.

Central Fountain was not actually a fountain at all. Resting in the middle of the Institute, it was a three-story building akin to a shopping mall. A few enterprising business owners had opened food and clothing shops for the Summoners and champions. Though the food wasn't quite as good as the homecooked meals outside of the Institute, it couldn't be beaten in terms of cheapness and convenience. Lux and Katarina were standing outside, away from the bustling crowd.

The atmosphere was a great deal nicer than the shops outside as well. The Institute's tasteful decorating could be seen throughout the building, which had high arching ceilings, many fountains, and more statues. The oil lamps were supplemented by experimental electricity, creating a warm, cozy glow.

"Ezreal! Hi!" Lux dashed to him and hugged him tightly. The aroma of violets and sunshine wafted up from her hair. "Glad you could make it. Ready for dinner?"

"I'm starving. Haven't had a thing to eat today."

"Too busy kicking butt, I see." She beamed at him and he felt his heart melt a little. She was prettier than the Avarosan murals in Freljord. She reminded him of the painting of daisies blooming on a sheet of snow.

"I should've come to the Institute sooner. I would've if I'd known I'd get such a warm welcome."

"I wish you would have showed up when this whole thing started. Maybe the other carries would stand a chance." Her blue eyes sparkled merrily.

"I don't know." He jokingly flexed a muscle. "I doubt having a few more years to play against me would help them."

"Probably not." She smiled coyly and kneaded his forearm. It tingled with warmth. "Though you have some working out to do before you fight the top-laners."

"I could probably fight Jayce," he said, jokingly. "It's not like he's twice my size or anything."

"Not like he has a hammer that's bigger than you, too."

"Renekton's not that bad. Oh, and Irelia. Her constant stuns don't counter me at all."

"Neither does Taric, right? Or my Light Binding."

"I'm so overpowered, your cage doesn't even stop me." He winked at her. "I'm kidding, of course. I'm definitely not that arrogant."

"I think that's part of why you're so good," she said. "You know your limitations. Now, if you talk to Vayne, all she wants to do is 1v5."

"Ugh." Ezreal shuddered. "Vayne. She hits so hard."

"True that. And she's about as hard to track down as Katarina…" Lux's eyes grew distant. She was doubtlessly recalling games against Vayne. They were often memorable, painful experiences. "Enough of that, though. Let's get some grub." Ezreal followed her inside, leaving Katarina and Michael to their own devices.

"Nice costume," Katarina said with a smirk.

"Thanks. It was all my idea, as you've probably guessed." Michael sighed. "Go ahead and say it – I look Noxian."

"You seem saddened by that. Why? We are a proud people."  
"Wouldn't you be sad if you suddenly discovered that everyone thought you were Demacian?"

Katarina laughed out loud, then lowered her voice. "Of course I would! Demacians are stupid!"

"It's the same sort of feeling."

"But it shouldn't be. Noxians are superior."

"Of course you would think that. You're Noxian."

"My poor child." Katarina stroked his cheek. She found touching him irresistible and wasn't sure why.

"It's because I'm telepathic and telempathic," Michael said. His green eyes lightened slightly. "Touching me creates pleasurable sensations."

"You can read my mind?" Katarina shrank from him. "Since when?"

"I can only read thoughts occasionally, but I can tell how you feel all the time. Did no one tell you that that's half of my powers?" Michael laughed humorlessly. "It's not like I'm joining the League because I'm super strong."

Katarina ran a finger down his cheek again. He touched her wrist and held it softly. To both of their surprise, she blushed, hard.

He looked like a knight from years gone by. But he was a musician. Such a strange combination could only be Noxian.

That was the truth, then. There was no other way that anyone could be his father but –

Almost too late she threw up mental shields as impenetrable as the armor he wore.

"What?" The hold on Katarina's wrist grew tighter. "What were you thinking? My father? What about him?" He released her hand, shaking his head. In part of him, white-hot anger erupted. He wanted to crush Katarina's wrist, smash her shoulder blades, lash her with a thousand whips.

But the other side of him subdued the anger. The Support meditation helped him quiet and focus his mind. He would never hurt a person outside of the Rift, no matter what his heritage was.

He realized that he was not angry at her, but at his parents, and at the fact of his own birth.

Ezreal was pleased to discover that, not only did he and Lux have a lot in common – she was the easiest person to talk to he'd ever met. Despite her pretty appearance, she wasn't high maintenance or uppity. Ez found her relaxed demeanor attractive.

"You're pretty brave for ordering a messy sandwich on a first date," he observed.

"Is this a date?" Lux looked surprised. "Had I known that, I would've taken you somewhere fancier." She took an enormous bite of her cheesesteak sandwich, another Piltover classic.

"I think you mean that _I _would've taken you somewhere."

Lux laughed. "I'm a general. I'm plenty rich enough to pay for dinner."

Mimicking Graves' drawl, Ez said, "It wouldn't do for a purty little thang to go payin' for a man's meal."

Lux dissolved into giggles. After a moment, Ezreal joined in. The tables of Summoners around them were watching them, but neither of them noticed.

"So anyways, what do you think of the Supports?"

"They're amazing. I love living with them." Ezreal gulped some of his cream soda. A little too sweet, but Lux made it seem just fine. "I'm not used to having a roommate, but Michael's awesome."

"Is he? He seems a little weird."

"He's just going through some family stuff right now. You know how that is." On the outside, he appeared relaxed and confident. But his palms were sweating slightly. "Say, uh, do they show movies around here?"

"Oh yeah! There's a theater right outside of the Institute. Why?"

"I was just thinking…even if dinner's on you, I could take you to a show after Michael and I's sparring match."

Her blue eyes lit up and Ezreal felt a wave of relief wash over him. She did like him. A lot. Knowing that somehow made the world seem brighter, more worthwhile. "I'd love that. Though you'd have to pay for popcorn too, and that stuff costs an arm and a leg."

"I like a woman with an appetite," Ezreal said.

"I probably eat more than you do." Lux sipped soda and smiled at him. "Just tell me if it gets excessive."

"You're so skinny, though." That was probably not the right word to use, Ezreal thought. Lux, seeing his distress, chuckled. "I mean that in a good way."

"I know you do. You're a sweetheart, Ezreal."

"I'm glad you think that. It's nice to have someone to hang out with. I-I don't tend to make friends easily."

Lux nodded over her sandwich. "I can understand why."

"I'm glad that you do, because I don't know why." Ezreal leaned forward. "I try to be nice, but people have a difficult time liking me as a person. Like the other carries."

Lux nodded again. "We have the same problem."

"Which is?"

"Intimidation. People are afraid of us. People view us as a threat even when we're friendly. They think that, because we're smart, that we can't be nice to them."

Ezreal shook his head in wonder. "Is that really all it is?"

"Well, in your case, it's your status as a carry. If I were a carry, I would feel weird about being friends with you if I knew that I was going to be stomped every time I faced you."

"I suppose that's true." Ezreal sighed. "I just wish they didn't hate me. Graves won't even say good morning to me." Lux's blue eyes reflected her sympathy. She clasped Ezreal's gauntlet in both of her hands. Even through the rough fabric, he could feel the soft warmth of her touch, like the sun in early March.

"Not everyone hates you. That's all that matters." Their eyes met intently. Ezreal felt he could lose himself in that pure, crystalline blue. Their compassion was enough to make up for years and years of solitude. But Lux had to break the moment. "Anyways, we've got to hurry up. Your duel's soon."

Ezreal drained the rest of his soda. "Man, I hope I do well. I really want Michael to get into the League."

"Yeah, I'm not sure what's up with that. He should've been in a long, long time ago." Luxanna shook her head, mystified. "You'd think that with his mother at the top, pulling the strings…"

"I'm not sure what's going on. Maybe we'll find out. But first, dinner, a duel and a show. Hopefully you don't like cheesy romance movies…"

"Heck no. I'm all about the action." She flashed Ezreal a seductive smile along with the obvious double entendre. Ezreal blushed and looked into his soda cup. When it came to women, talking was hard enough. But the other stuff? He had no idea. Not the slightest. "It's funny to watch you freak out, Ezreal. I won't even lie."

"That's not very nice."

She laughed wildly. "One doesn't become a general in the Demacian legion by being nice all the time."

"Speaking of which, I can't wait to do those interviews."

"Me neither. As long as I get a piece of the pie." Lux smirked. "I'm kidding."

"I don't care. It's not like I need the money. I do it for the same reason most historians do their jobs – to preserve the past for the future."

The two stood up. A novice Summoner eagerly scampered over to clean up their trash. Lux flipped him a coin and watched his mousy face light up.

"I love this place sometimes," Lux sighed. "Sometimes it gets on my nerves."

"I can totally get that. I feel watched all the time."

The two moved towards the exit. Lux put an arm around Ezreal's shoulders nonchalantly. After a moment, he did the same. "It's hard to walk like this," she commented.

"Worth it, though."

"I didn't realize how cuddly you'd be in real life. You always looked like such a hard-ass in your magazine pictures. Sorry if that sounds weird."

"No apologies necessary. Also, it's not that weird compared to the rest of my life right now. It's not like I have to go fight a duel to get someone else into a League that I didn't even want to join. Someone who has a major crush on me, who may or may not be Noxian. Cuddliness seems downright normal compared to that."


	12. A Matter of Honor

_N.B. Hello, readers! Thanks so much for your continuous reading, the favorites and follows, and your kind reviews. I do take every review I get into account while creating the story. They also inspire me to write faster. So please, let me know what you think! _

Ezreal followed Michael towards the Sparring Grounds. As they got closer, they were surrounded by an ocean of purple-robed Summoners that swirled and eddied around them, casting glances at Michael's tall, dark form and Ezreal's short golden one.

The planes of Michael's face were as hard as stone and difficult to read. As more and more Summoners surrounded them, Ezreal's face, too, grew serious. He hadn't realized that there would be a live audience for this match.

During Summoners' Rift matches, it was all too easy to forget the eager eyes watching his every move. His mind focused on the here and now. But this was the first time he would fight in front of this many people. It appeared that every Summoner planning to attend the duels.

Suddenly, he was enveloped in calm. The soothing emotion seemed tropical, warm, humid; it was like being in the eye of a hurricane. He felt Michael's mind probe his gently. _Ezreal, can you hear me? _

_You can do this like Sona can?_

_I can do more than she does_. With a thin smile, Michael expanded the feeling of calm. The tendrils of his mind raced through Ezreal's body. He took control of the Explorer and brought his footsteps to a halt. Ezreal tried to move and couldn't. It was as if his feet were full of concrete.

Fear like cold water filled Ezreal's chest. He had never known anyone with such power. Even Darius and Swain, renowned for having control over people, never turned people into puppets with their minds.

Michael withdrew and Ezreal gasped. The everpresent Summoners gave the pair an odd look but continued hurrying towards the Sparring Grounds.

_I didn't know you could do that! No wonder they're scared to put you in the League!_

_My abilities will be just as regulated as everyone else's. Don't think I can simply take control of the enemy carry the whole time. That'd be simply too easy. _

Ezreal tried to smile, to hide his discomfort at finally realizing the extent of Michael's power. "Yeah," he said aloud. "It's not like you're Mordekaiser."

Michael's answering smile was small and weak.

Zandred bustled through the crowd towards them. "Ezreal! Follow me!" The carry and Support shared a glance, then jogged after Zandred. They arrived at a smaller entrance around the side of the Sparring Grounds' coliseum-esque exterior.

The dying, amber light of the sun painted the carries' faces in shades of smoky gray. Ashe was sharpening the tips of her arrows on a small chunk of rock. Caitlyn, sitting on a small bench nearby, was greasing her traps. Vayne and Graves were examining their guns. Each of them favored Ezreal with a pointed look, but said nothing to him or Michael.

Zandred said in hushed tones, "Michael, you know exactly what rules to follow. Ezreal, the rules are simple. First pair to die loses. You are to use only the abilities you use on the Rift. Losing matches doesn't necessarily exclude Michael from the League, though they are a factor. Try your best. The Summoners are expecting a great show." Zandred clasped Ezreal's shoulder. "I know you'll do wonderfully."

Graves broke the tense silence among the other carries by spitting a plug of tobacco to the ground. "If y'wanted to give Michael a real test, you'd've made him carry us against Ezreal."

Zandred bowed. Summoners were always demanded to be polite to champions, though it was clear from Zandred's furrowed brow that he was annoyed. "Ezreal and Michael are believed to have good synergy. That's why they will be facing champion pairs that also have good synergy. Speaking of which – where are the other Supports?" Zandred looked down at his large wristwatch.

"Over here!" Soraka called. She, Lulu, Taric and Sona made their way towards them. The dim light made them little more than shadows, strange silhouettes. Soraka trotted up to Graves and gave him a hug. "We'll Magic Resist the crap out of them."

Taric rubbed Michael's shoulder. The gems on his armor caught a little light and sparkled as if lit by some hidden flame. "Good luck. I know you'll do wonderfully."

Lulu took her place beside Caitlyn, and Sona beside Ashe. Taric-Vayne. Ezreal shuddered. That was going to be a difficult match. Particularly if Vayne made good use of her Condemn spell.

"Zandred!" Another Summoner in purple robes jogged away from the crush of spectators towards their entrance. "I trust the pairs are ready?" Zandred bowed again. Ezreal thought briefly that his waist must get tired from all the bowing he did on a daily basis. This fat Summoner boasted a handlebar moustache. He held a hand out to Michael who shook it briefly. "Son."

"Father."

"The other four pairs go in first, Michael and Ezreal last. Are you ready?" The dueling pairs murmured assent. Darrigan scurried off to rejoin the spectators.

"Right." Zandred again checked his watch. "Whenever you're ready. Go in. Pair by pair."

Soraka took Graves' arm and favored him with a warm smile. Ezreal thought he could see the cowboy's mustachioed face soften slightly. "Let's go, carry."

Zandred opened the heavy double doors and a blast of light greeted them. Soraka and Graves began marching towards the light. When they made it inside, they were surrounded by loud cheers, the voice of ten-thousand people. Ezreal's stomach dropped. The roar of the Summoners was like a tidal wave, crashing down on them, hard. Lulu and Caitlyn followed them, Lulu's face sparkling with excitement. Ashe squared her shoulders and stood up straighter, ready to represent not only her status as a carry, but her role as leader of the Avarosan. Vayne shook Taric's hand. They jogged towards the center of the field, waving to the Summoners.

Ezreal took a deep breath. His stomach gurgled uneasily. He wondered briefly if cheesesteak was the best thing to put on his stomach prior to sparring and shook that concern off. His hands were shaking.

Michael touched his cheek and brushed hair from his eyes. The calm feelings returned.

Sona could make people feel calm, but that was in a different way. She never forced calm upon someone. Michael's emotional influence was rougher, more rugged, stronger. Sometimes, Ezreal reflected, that wasn't necessarily a bad thing.

"What are you two waiting on?"

"Nothing," Michael said. A warlike light filled his eyes as he tugged the clarinet-case from his breastplate. It should've looked silly, but the black instrument seemed dangerous, coiling in Michael's hand like a poisonous snake. "Let's go, Ezreal." Without another word, the pair walked from the quiet night into a blaze of light and sound.

* * *

The cheers that greeted the other champions seemed weak in comparison. When the Summoners caught sight of their favorite carry, the stadium simply erupted. Ten thousand voices lifted towards the evening sky. It became a martial chant of Ez's name.

Ezreal – who was already more comfortable when he was alone – noticed that the wall of sound was almost a physical thing that baffled his senses. It was like moving slowly through static that crawled along his skin. He hoped that his face was projecting some mixture of courage and determination. Michael's certainly was.

When the two of them reached the center of the arena, Michael held up a fist and made a gesture that quieted the Summoners at last. When the stadium lapsed into murmurs of quiet, he pressed the clarinet mouthpiece to his lips and began to blow. The first notes were slow and muted, but as they climbed the scale, the sound grew louder, more powerful. Above their heads, dark strings of matter began to coalesce, shaping something huge.

A long, sinuous form coiled in the air above them. As Michael continued his musical enchantment, his eyes fixed on the growing shape, the thing sprouted a head. Ezreal suppressed a gasp. It was an Ionian dragon with a large mane and bulging eyes, a cross between a snake and a lion. Though mainly shadowy black, its scales were outlined with rich veins of gold. The beauty of it caught Ezreal offguard. He unthinkingly reached upwards and brushed its scales, which were warm to the touch.

The thing loosed a roar that competed with the Summoners' in volume. Michael closed his eyes. His fingers, shifting downward, gave the dragon instructions. The dragon cocked its head, listening, then soared off in flight around the stadium. Roaring still, it flew slightly above the heads of the awed Summoners, who greeted it with still more cheers. Soon the stadium was even louder than it had been, and the chant swapped Ezreal's name for Michael's.

Ezreal glanced at the other carries and Supports, and noted their fearful faces. He himself wasn't sure how to feel at this display of raw shaping power.

There was no time to consider it. At Michael's instruction, the dragon skidded to a halt above them. Then, in a sky already scattered with stars, the dragon burst into multicolored fireworks, sparkling blue and gold glitter.

_Demacian colors. Smart of him. Sets off his Noxian outerwear. _

Michael's eyes met his in the shower of sparks. His smile was fierce and determined. Ezreal answered it. The battle adrenaline surged through his veins like crackling electricity. Spectators or no, he was ready to prove to the League that he and Michael were the new bot lane.

Soraka and Graves took their place across from them. The uncertainty on Graves' face had been replaced by the darkest of looks. _Enough of glitter-dragons_, he was probably thinking. _Time to show these fairies what a real man is like_. Soraka's was projecting a calming aura so strong that Ezreal could feel it. Michael's competed with hers.

He and Graves bowed to one another. The stadium hushed. Then Ezreal fired a Mystic Shot, answered by Graves' Quickdraw, and the crowd went wild.

He thought at first that the Supports would go easy on he and Michael, make it unchallenging for him to join the League at last. Such a thing was not going to happen. Soraka's Starcall grazed his neck, leaving a small burn. Michael's quick notes healed his skin.

Then, changing abilities, a tendril of night whipped into Graves' face, taking the form of a hissing anaconda. Ezreal noted with satisfaction that the cowboy's eyes filled with terror. Almost dropping his shotgun, he fled. Ezreal followed his form with an Essence Flux that almost hit.

Soraka's autoattacks hammered into his arms, followed by molten lead. Graves had returned, his eyes icy with hatred. Ezreal feinted, followed by Michael, who sent another snake the enemies' way, but missed.

The fast-paced sparring continued. When Ezreal felt ready to drop, his muscles trembling with weakness, Michael used a spell that restored him to full vitality. The cooldown was long because its healing properties were very strong.

He became conscious of the crowd roaring its approval. His mind, straining with battle fatigue, couldn't figure out why. Then he noticed the light on his glove. The green glow indicated that his ultimate ability was available. "Ult?" he shouted at Michael. Michael nodded and aimed his clarinet. Ezreal began to channel his Trueshot. His blood roiled along with the music. The blinding light of his ult revealed Graves' agonized face. It was followed by the silent, shadowy form of a panther that leapt towards Graves and Soraka. Graves fell to Ezreal's ult, Soraka to Michael's.

He doubled over, panting. Graves hadn't exactly been the easiest matchup, especially not with Soraka sustaining him.

The world was silent for him, even as some distant part of him sensed the tidal wave of noise. His explosive ult, combined with Michael's music, had temporarily deafened him. Before he could recover, Michael grasped his glove and lifted it in victory.

_He really does love this_, Ezreal thought. Michael's face was lit with a fierce, fiery happiness, the likes of which Ezreal had never seen. _He loves to fight. He should have been a mage. He might still be. _

Lulu and Caitlyn were not a match for them. Ezreal and his Support's juking abilities dodged all of the poke that issued from them. Ezreal marveled (when he had time in between Mystic Shots) at the spectacle of the Glitterlances and Darkshots firing back and forth between the two Supports. When it came time for Ezreal to fire his Trueshot, Lulu gritted her teeth and shielded Caitlyn, but nothing could save them.

Ashe/ Sona was the same concept – lots of poke. Michael almost "died" to Ashe's Frost Shot, but was able to counter with spells of his own. He used his heal on himself, then his ultimate. The Panther was suitably distracting, and Ezreal felled the Avarosan warrior as if she were a caribou streaking across wintry plains.

But they almost lost to Taric and Vayne.

He and Michael were tired, and Ezreal knew this. The day had been long. Exhausting. And putting Vayne as the last duel – when she was so comfortable with extended engagements – was a stroke of brilliance by Merilyn.

She would have accounted for Ezreal and her son's exhaustion, Taric's deceptive damage output, and Vayne's shrewd, mechanical mind. But in Merilyn's narrow-mindedness, she wouldn't have accounted for Michael's sheer willpower.

Twenty minutes in, Ezreal saw, from the corner of his eye, Vayne go invisible. "Look out!" he shouted to Michael. They'd have to work on the mind communication thing.

The Night Hunter appeared on top of Michael and Condemned him to the wall, her Silver Bolts racking through his body. He shook with every shot.

Ezreal dove towards him, but was stopped by a tingling Dazzle that sent sharp pains shooting through his legs and chest. He let out an inarticulate cry of rage and grief and fired a round of shots at Taric. They glanced off of his gemstone armor.

Michael's cry of grief echoed Ezreal's, but his was augmented by the sound of his instrument filling the air. Vayne cringed backwards as dark strings of matter flickered from the bell into her face, a mass of writhing snakes. "Taric!" she cried. "Help me!" Taric looked over at her, torn. On one hand, he wanted to pursue Ezreal, but Michael's damage output was insane. He ran towards his carry, losing track of Ez, who Arcane Shifted and fired a Trueshot at incredibly close range.

He could feel thousands of Summoners leaning forward. All they could see was a small dark knot of figures on top of one another, punctuated by black strands of pure energy and the sparks from Ezreal's attacks. The four figures broke into chaotic combat. Vayne and Taric's basic attacks ripped through his skin.

He was going to drop. He felt it.

Desperate, he Arcane Shifted, clinging to life. Half-conscious, he fell to his knees in front of Vayne.

At last Michael fired his ultimate. All Ezreal saw was a black, demonic form pounce on Vayne's back, closing its maw around her neck. She screamed – a terrible sound that rang in Ezreal's ears. Her final Silver Bolt racked Ezreal's body with pain. Behind him, Taric fell to Ezreal's last-moment Ignite.

Michael was the only one standing.

* * *

When Ezreal emerged from the death fog and stood up, he bowed courteously to Vayne and Taric. They had fought well.

He took Michael's numb hand and raised it again in triumph. Zandred would be pleased that he had caught on, at last, to Institute decorum.

He smiled sleepily, first at Michael, then at the Summoners. Their enthusiasm was no less diminished for the late hour. Though, as Ezreal found out later, he and Michael were expected to win, seeing their effective combat was still inspiring.

He noticed the Champions sitting together in a cluster nearby. Lux and Katarina were cheering wildly.

The rest of the Champions – particularly the carries who hadn't participated – looked decidedly ambivalent. Ezreal's triumph was unsurprising, and the addition of such a high damage Support was not the best thing in the world. Still, most of them clapped and cheered.

Michael suddenly hugged him. They were both reeking of sweat. Ezreal understood, though. He remembered hugging Sona after their battle. There truly was nothing like the relationship between a carry and their Support.

Soraka, Taric, and Lulu emerged from the sidelines and surrounded Michael, chatting excitedly. Sona hovered nearby, a cheerful look in her amber eyes.

Graves, Vayne, Ashe and Caitlyn had vanished already, no doubt licking their wounds and complaining to one another.

Ezreal waited for something else to happen. Nothing did. The Summoners, at last tired of cheering, began filing out.

"Do they not tell you?"

"Tell me what?"

"If you've made it." Ezreal looked around. "I was waiting for some speech from Zandred or someone. I don't know."

Michael shrugged, still pumped up from their matches. "They can't turn me down with a performance like that."

"I hope not," Ezreal murmured. The night breeze, redolent with the scent of spring blooms, caressed his face. God, that felt good.

"Ezreal!" Lux ran over to him. It seemed like she was always doing that. Not that Ezreal minded in the slightest. Watching her run was like watching the movement of light itself. Her light steps reminded him of the sun dancing across waves.

"You still want to go to that movie? I stink like a cave monster."

"Oh, I know a place where you can get clean." The tone of her voice set his nerves afire. He snapped back to wakefulness.

"Excuse me?"

"Follow me. You deserve a _good_ break after that performance." Her wink revealed her intentions. Ezreal's muscles, shaking from adrenaline withdrawal, filled with vigor again.

_This is the longest and best day of my life_, Ezreal thought dimly. _Even if I live to be one hundred, this will be the day I remember. Always. _

He shook Michael's hand once more and followed Lux into the night.


	13. Lux in the Dark

Lux was little more than a shadow, even to Ezreal's trained explorer's eyes.

"Where are we going?" he called quietly.

"Just trust me." Her voice floated towards him, along with the humming chorus of crickets and the wild, lonely cries of night birds.

Ezreal felt alive. The sweat from his earlier duels sizzled on his skin. The moon, large and orange as a New Year's lantern, seemed to smile on him and Lux, bathing them in liquid silver.

He quickly lost his sense of direction as Lux led him through dark-canopied woods. Only his warrior's prowess kept him from stumbling across roots and getting snagged in thorn-bushes. His breath came faster now, ragged pants. Even his youthful nature couldn't prevent fatigue from setting in again.

Suddenly they halted.

A swimming pool, entirely deserted, lie in front of them. Underwater lights made the water shine with a mysterious blue. He could hear the beach umbrellas flapping softly in the evening breeze.

"What is this place?"

"Champions' Retreat. It's where we come to hang out with the Summoners during special events. Even though it's kept up, not many people come back here. Especially not at this time of night."

Across the pool, Ezreal could make out a two-story upscale cabin. Probably had a wooden dance floor, crackling fire place, fantastic dining room.

"Champions' Retreat, hm? Interesting. There's so much about the Institute to discover."

"We can explore it together, bit by bit." Lux smiled at him lazily. Without another word, she stripped down to her bra and panties, two white spots in the gray night air.

Ezreal gaped. "What are you doing?"

"Going to have a little fun. What do you say?" She extended her hand. "You can swim, can't you?"

Ezreal nodded mutely. He shed his clothes down to his boxers, feeling a deep warmth rise from his stomach to his throat.

Her body left his mind blank. She seemed so natural, a faerie enchantress of sorts. A brilliant fae, spreading sunlight from creature to creature.

"Your name means 'Light' in Latin, doesn't it?"

"That it does."

"It's fitting." Ezreal moved towards her, welcoming the scent of green earth and daisies that clung to her. "The world is nourished by light."

Lux nodded, eyes twinkling with excitement. "It banishes the darkness. Allows for new beginnings."

Her soft lips brushed his, shyly at first, then with more insistence. Ezreal's hands met on her lower back. Her touch ignited him. A deep warmth, like twilight beneath a July sun, filled his body.

She pulled back and dove into the pool, sliding beneath the waves almost silently. Ezreal pinched his nose and followed, relishing the cold water closing over his head. The crystalline blue enveloped the two of them. It was like swimming through the sky.

He found her again and kissed her, longing to lose himself. The lonely years in empty caverns, the terrifying initial summonings to the League, the hatred from the other carries.

Lux fled into Ezreal, from the deaths of thousands of soldiers, the immense pressures placed on her as a member of the Crownguard family...

All these things added to the weight of the kisses they shared.

It was a temporary respite.

Lux broke off from him suddenly.

"Wha-"

"Shh! Listen!"

Lux cocked her head. Ezreal admired the way the light shone on her wet, silken hair. Even with mussed makeup her beauty astounded.

But then his explorer's senses kicked in, and he heard voices begin to carry across the water. Silently, he wrapped an arm around Lux and swam with her to the corner of the pool, praying he went undiscovered. He wasn't sure the Institute could really do anything to him - surely there were champions who engaged in trysts? - but he didn't want to deal with the undue attention all the same.

He and Lux huddled in the darkest corner of the pool. Her taut buttocks rested squarely on his lower stomach, distracting him.

Without another word, the twosome submerged themselves as far as they could, with their noses resting above the water.

Lux heard Garen's no-nonsense voice and tried to quiet her throbbing heart so she could make out what he was saying.

"...this plan isn't really fitting with the Demacian forces."

"True that may be," a different voice added. "But this coup could end the war entirely. And what is a little treachery compared to a prolonged conflict, thousands more dead? It could end within a week."

Ezreal recognized that voice, but from where?

Then he remembered - Merilyn.

Fury, blind and white-hot, filled him. He just wanted to spend time with Lux, and even now the nefarious Summoner was interfering.

Another Summoner he didn't recognize spoke up. "But who cares? Even if we are treacherous, haven't the Noxians been treacherous as well? Treacherous to us, to each other?"

Another voice: Quinn. "And who's to say that they aren't planning the same for us?"

"Garen, have you spoken to your general about these plans?"

"I have not, m'lady."

"Do you think she'll agree to them?"

Lux heard the hesitation in Garen's voice. "I'm unsure. Luxanna has always been a bit of a wild card. Her sense of morality is...strong. But sometimes she makes unusual choices."

Another Summoner scoffed. Ezreal noted that the group across the pool from them had to be fifteen to twenty people strong, and shivered at the thought of discovery.

Merilyn snorted. "I fail to see how anyone can see the death of every Noxian in the League a bad thing. And if they do, they are on the wrong side."

There was a murmur of assent.

"Besides, it's only a few people. Cut them down, and the problems stop. Noxus' primary assassin, their general, and their commander are here. Without them, the forces of Noxus will at least be distracted from killing the Demacians for a little while, will they not?"

Ezreal closed his eyes and buried his face in Lux's hair, drawing its clean, flowery scent into his nostrils. His hot breath caressed her neck.

A ripple of disbelief ran through his body. He wanted to shout in rage.

At last he'd joined the League for good - only to learn that, instead of being a force for justice, it was filled to the brim with lies, deceit, horrible treachery. He didn't know the exact shape of Merilyn's plan, only that it involved the death of Noxian forces.

His mind raced and settled on Michael. A picture of him - perfectly clear - dressed in Dark Knight armor appeared in his mind. Followed by memories of Merilyn berating her son.

If she wanted to rid the League of Noxians...who was to say she wouldn't stop at killing Michael?

The knot of Summoners and Champions meandered off into the dark forest path. Lux revolved in the water to face him and placed her head on his shoulder, shaking.

"This is unheard of. The League itself, killing Champions? They worked so hard to recruit them!"

"So they could clean them up later, I guess." He closed his arms around Lux, stroking her slick back with his gauntlet. "Surely you can't agree to their plan..."

"No! I can't believe the Demacians would do this! Why would - Garen -" she suppressed a sob, pressing her face hard into Ezreal's damp skin. "Katarina is my friend! They don't understand! This is an abomination! The Summoners swore to protect the champions to help ease tensions between different factions…we're supposed to be doing the right thing. This is unbelievable!"

Ezreal hugged her close, trying not to become distracted by her lean muscle and intoxicating scent. "What are we going to do?"

Lux leaned away from him, blue eyes sparkling fiercely, partly with anger, partly with unshed tears. "I'll start making plans. This has got to be stopped."

Ezreal regretted it, but he had to part ways with Lux eventually. They shared one more kiss before leaving one another, under the watchful eye of the statue Garamond. The sweetness of her lips made Ezreal crave more.

Lux's plan wasn't much of a plan, but Ezreal trusted it. After all, she was the general of the Demacian Legion. Having led thousands of troops in uniformed assaults, he had no doubt that directing him was much easier.

He only had to alert Michael and keep his ears open for more information.

He hurried through the seemingly-deserted Support Quarters, stopping to marvel at the tree that spanned the lobby. Then he opened the door to his room and immediately flinched in surprise.

Michael and Katarina were engaged in a deep, steamy lip-lock that made his kisses with Lux look like friendly smooches. Michael's fingers were tangled in Katarina's deep crimson hair; her body seemed to melt into his, her lithe form complementing his tall, gangly one perfectly. As Ezreal watched, she nipped his ear.

Ezreal cleared his throat awkwardly.

The couple started in surprise. Michael flushed a deep red – almost purple. "Oh my God, Ezreal, I'm sorry."

"I'm sorry to interrupt. If I would've known, I'd've found somewhere else to stay."

Katarina leaned back with a slow, catlike grin of satisfaction. The color was high in her cheeks, and her hair was mussed. "Unless you'd like to join in, Explorer Boy."

Ezreal's stomach plummeted. "No, no, no –"

Kat laughed throatily. "Then I'll be taking my leave. Catch you later, Mike."

"M'lady." Michael half-bowed from the bed.

Katarina winked at Ezreal, then slipped out of the room, closing the door with a soft _thud_.

"Well, then." Ezreal looked at his shoes. "Glad to see you're, ah, enjoying yourself."

"She sort of pounced on me. Not that I minded terribly." Michael shrugged. "How were things with Lux?"

Ezreal's breath caught. "Good, except for one thing."

"No protection?" Michael snickered, and Ezreal felt a surge of relief at having his old roommate back. The dry humor was much more like Michael's natural state, instead of the edginess and depression.

"I wish that were it. No, the plot by your mother to kill the Noxians is what ruined my date."

Michael grew very still. "What?"

Ezreal shook his head sadly. "I wish I were kidding. When I said your mother was a bitch, I had no real idea." Then, despite his weariness, Ezreal took a seat next to Michael and began explaining what he knew.


	14. Ryland and Lies

_N.B. Hello, readers! Thanks again for the reviews. I really appreciate them and need them as well. This is my first piece of fanfiction, so I'm not familiar with what you guys want. Leaving me a review is a great way to let me know exactly what you're expecting or what you'd like to see next. As always – thank you so much for reading! I love you guys. _

After the battles, Michael felt directionless. So much of his emotional energy had been focused on those moments. He had poured his will into getting every single action and reaction correct, precise, fluid.

Now, standing among the other Supports and champions congratulating him, the energy steadily drained from his body along with his sense of purpose. His heart beat sluggishly. There was nothing he could do. The decision was in the hands of the Venerable Summoners.

He watched as Ezreal followed Lux, jogging after her, out of the Sparring Grounds. A sharp blade of loss seemed to stab him in the ribs, piercing his skin. He gasped in pain. _This is why I don't get attached to people. I can't always control my power or its consequences_...

It wasn't - or shouldn't have been - surprising that Ez had decided to pursue the cheerful general. To some extent, the two of them had much in common.

Physically, the blonde hair, the blue eyes, the flashy abilities. Tactically, their frailty and distance from combat, but also their power.

And personally. Their sense of humor, moodiness, empathy for other people. Their sharp intelligence.

Michael felt himself pining for the Prodigal Explorer and quickly quashed the feeling. It wouldn't be fair to Ezreal, he knew. Ezreal had joined the League, so he should enjoy someone who was actually in the League.

_Besides, is it not enough for me that he's my friend? That alone is more than I ever could have imagined. I'm getting selfish. _

So absorbed was he in his thoughts that he didn't notice Katarina slinking towards him, eyes glimmering with an emotion he could only label as Noxian - a mixture of lust, greed and avarice.

Surprisingly, he found himself responding to it positively.

She tugged on his black shirt, red lips forming a soft smile. "I have a new nickname for you."

"Oh, please, indulge me. Snake Man? Flute Boy? After Skeletron, I suspect anything will be an improvement."

Kat's face remained serious. And the emotions pouring off of her - hot waves of desire coupled with utter sincerity - threatened to overwhelm him. "Your fighting out there reminded me of a story I heard long ago, about ages past. About a warrior prince." Michael glanced around nervously, noticing the other champions averting their gazes.

"Can we take this somewhere else?"

"Why? Am I...unsavory?"

Michael felt an unbidden smile play across his lips. "Not to me."

The two of them wandered off back to the Support's Quarters in companionable silence. The rest of the Supports had convened to write up a recommendation for Michael while his performance was still fresh in their mind. The pair passed them on the way to Michael's room, sitting in a circle in the Void lobby. Kog'Maw oozed green acid while Soraka steadily patted his head, nibbling the tip of a pen intently. The circle didn't notice him.

Once inside Michael's room, Katarina pushed him down to the bed and kissed him with a feverish intensity. _So that's what they mean when they say someone's hot_, Michael thought dimly. Katarina's every touch crackled along his nerves like heat lightning. Her lust consumed him. Michael responded with lust of his own, merging with hers. Soon it felt as if they were in the center of a supernova.

He broke away from her and leaned back, breathing heavily, dark hair clinging to his temples.

"They always say the best lovers are Noxian." Katarina said quietly.

Michael licked his lips. "I can see why. So, what about that nickname?"

Katarina nuzzled his chest. "You can tell I'm attracted to men with power. Well, once, when I was a wee child, I came down with a terrible flu. My father was home on furlough, and my mother, who had already had enough of taking care of me, told him to tend to me. You see, since Father was a general, he was gone all the time and Mother was the one who took care of us.

So I remember Father saying, 'I know nothing of how to take care of a child, Vera!' and Mother said, 'You go in there and you tell her stories and feed her hot soup!' So Father got this huge bowl of hot soup - he ate most of it - and came in to tell me stories."

Michael watched her face intently as she spoke. Gone was the sly watchfulness that traditionally accompanied Noxians. Now Katarina's face was the picture of innocent beauty as she recalled her childhood. Michael felt a sharp pang. _Even a Noxian assassin's childhood was better than mine_..."Go on."

"Father bustled into my room, looking silly. Think of it - a general carrying soup! He was wearing my mother's apron, too! And he says, 'My Kitty Kat, I don't know many good stories for children. So I'm going to tell you the stories my father told me. Is that okay?' And being weak with the flu, I nodded. And then he tells me the best story I've ever heard, Father does. So unlike the ones Mother told me. Mother always talked about magic and princesses and talking animals. But Father - he told me of Ryland.

Ryland was a Dark Knight of Noxus, but he was also a prince by birth. He joined the Dark Knights out of respect for their power, giving the group much status. He wasn't the strongest man, so all the men in the military laughed at him because he was pale and weak." Michael wrinkled his nose. "But Ryland had amazing powers that he beckoned with his voice. Everyone loved his voice so much that they fell in love with him instantly - the plants, animals. Some even say the rocks. As far as Dark Knights go, he wasn't spectacularly cruel or evil.

But here's the part I and my father loved. One night, a Noxian necromancer opened a portal to the Void." Katarina sat up and imitated the gruff voice of her father. "The Wolf of Night sprang from the opening and began to terrorize Noxus, eating children and feasting on horses. Blood ran through the streets as the Noxian Military tried in vain to catch it, to rout it with flaming arrows. Alas, nothing worked."

"What a cheerful story for children," Michael commented.

Kat smiled and continued, "At last, the military turned to Ryland, the man they had mocked. The wolf came face-to-face with him, snarling and bellowing. And Ryland sang." Katarina closed her eyes and intoned several words in the original Noxian language. Her voice was clear and crisp. Michael made a quick mental note of the melody. "The wolf sat on its haunches like a friendly sheepdog, and Ryland patted its head and tossed it a whole chicken, which it ate. From then on, Ryland and the Void Wolf were the best of friends. There are many tales about them."

"So I remind you of this Ryland because..."

"Because, though you do not have the most physical strength, you are still very powerful. And, like Ryland, you can influence others' emotions."

"I try not to. It feels unwholesome, much of the time."

"Ryland thought the same thing." She kissed him slowly, deeply. "I had an enormous crush on Ryland while I was growing up. So now, I'm going to call you Ry."

Michael's lips moved down her pale neck, tasting her skin. "I'd like that. I've never particularly cared for my name, anyways."

"It's a Demacian name," Katarina whispered, shivering as Michael mouth reached a sensitive spot near her ear. "You're not Demacian."

"Is that true?" Michael felt the last attachments he had to his parents fall away. His guilt, his anger, his name. The Void Wolf seemed to be howling in his head.

"If I tell you, will you side with us?" she said, even more quietly. Her green eyes met his. "Do you want to be Noxian?"

"I haven't a choice, have I?"

"I know your father," Katarina said. She had decided her course of action. She didn't plan to reveal his father's name. Even so, she felt his mind probing hers, even as his fingers kneaded her shoulders. Just like a true Noxian. Trying to take advantage of a moment of distraction.

"But you don't plan to tell me yet."

"Yes."

"I believe you."

Kat met his eyes once more. "You're a Noxian."

Ryland's body seemed to turn to ice. His heart froze in his chest, chilling him. But Katarina's kisses thawed him, her ruby lips inspiring heat from every nerve. _I'm Noxian_, he thought mutely. _Noxian. Evil. Dark. Only a Noxian would join forces with a wolf from the Void._

_But I can't hide any longer. _

Ezreal arrived shortly afterward. After Katarina left and Ezreal sat down and explained the basics of his mother's plan, Ryland sighed. "When it rains, it pours. Is that what they always say?"

"Yeah." Ezreal looked at his lap. Ryland noticed the bright marks of Lux's teeth - good lord - stippling Ezreal's tan skin and arched an eyebrow. Noticing him, Ezreal said, "Let me shower. I'm totally addicted to hygiene now."

Ry laughed, trying to suppress another wave of hurt. His imagination painted a vivid picture of Ezreal and Lux's tryst. "Better to be addicted to showers than to drugs. Or at least cheaper."

Ezreal scrutinized him. "Michael, are you okay?"

Ryland held up a palm. "I'm changing my name."

"To what?"  
"Ryland." He saw Ezreal's eyes widen and shrugged. "Katarina suggested it. Because I happen to be one of those Noxians that my mother wants to kill. Does it sound weird?"

Ezreal's breath gusted from his nose. "No, it's not that. It's just…that's a popular name from Noxian mythology."

Ryland nodded. "I know."

"So you want to overtly support the Noxians?"

"Would you rather covertly support the Demacians who are covertly trying to kill the Noxians?"

Massaging his temples and biting his lip, Ezreal at last said, "The more I think about it…the less I like Demacia's ideas. Particularly when they might involve my roommate. They didn't mention you, by the way. Only Katarina, Swain and Darius. But changing your name…"

Ryland stretched. "Might make me a target? I've already been a target. That's why I'm not in the League. Besides, if they try to kill me, my skills aren't regulated here as they are on the Rift." Compared to what he could actually do, the skills on the Rift were party tricks.

Ezreal thought for a moment. "Neither are mine."

"You'd do that for me?" Ryland was absurdly touched.

Ezreal flicked him a glance. "I support justice. That's what this place is supposed to stand for. C'mon, let's go get clean."

Even though Lux had appeared confident when she told Ezreal to let Michael know of his mother's intentions, she didn't feel it. Uncertainty seemed to follow her every step. Truth be told, she was dreading talking to Garen. But she knew it was inevitable.

Not even Garamond's stony, immovable form, shining softly beneath the moon, was comforting.

She wished she was Katarina. Noxians were accustomed to having internal problems, disturbances within their own forces. Demacians, though…they were generally unified in one purpose, marching towards one goal. There was never any intrigue or subterfuge.

She was scrubbing her makeup from her skin when someone rapped on her door lightly. "Just a minute!" she called, forcing cheer into her voice. Pulling on a conservative set of light-blue pajamas, she answered the door, acting as if she wasn't anticipating the visit. "Garen? What's wrong?"

Garen: her brother both in blood and in combat. Sometimes they allowed themselves moments of familial affection, like when they cooked dinner together or faced one another in volleyball. But most of the time, as the military demanded, they were cool and distant from one another, addressing one another as if they were unrelated in the slightest.

She wondered briefly if he resented Ezreal. She'd heard from other members of their contingent what he said about her and Ezreal: "Lux has to act very manly on the field, so it makes sense that she'd be attracted to someone slightly more feminine. It's a way of balancing herself out." Sometimes she wondered if that were true.

"I need to speak to you of a matter of great importance. Do you mind if I come inside?"

"Not at all." She made a show of glancing at her wall clock. "Does it have to be right now? It's fairly late."

Garen bowed his head. "I wouldn't have disturbed you if I didn't think the matter merited your attention."

She went to brew him tea in her tiny kitchen while he made himself comfortable. He looked so strange without armor, she thought. Naked, despite his jeans and black t-shirt. "So, what's up?"

"Merilyn approached the Demacian forces concerning a plan that could possibly end the aggression between the Noxians and our forces."

She poured the tea into two twin glasses. Passing him one, she took a small sip. "That's fantastic! I'm glad the Institute is interested in ending the war once and for all. What sort of treaty did she suggest?"

Garen winced. "Actually…it's not a treaty so much as a series of decisive actions."

"So, we're to give up certain territories we've gained from them?"

"No."

Lux's eyes widened in mock confusion. "What on earth could she be talking about, then?"

Garen's frown deepened. "As you know, we have quite a few prominent Noxians housed here at the Institute. Their removal would deal a crushing blow to the Noxians, such a large one that, possibly, their forces would crumble without strong leadership."

"That's interesting! Removal how? From their positions?"

Garen closed his eyes. "Removal from life."

Lux could quit acting, now, and let her actual feelings begin to show. "Garen…what you're talking about is political assassination." Over the steam rising from the tea, he nodded. "That's not very Demacian, now, is it?"

Garen's eyes met hers, stony and immovable. For a moment she glimpsed what the Noxians saw before he brought his great blade crashing down, smashing their spines. Smoldering anger and ruthlessness. His voice was harsh when he said, "What, so marching thousands and thousands of troops to their deaths is honorable? Is that what being Demacian means? Being stupid?"

Lux slammed her cup down, splattering hot brown liquid all over her hands and her table. "I know what being Demacian means. It means not assassinating political leaders dishonorably."

"I'm sorry that your friendliness towards Katarina is clouding your judgment."

Lux gasped. "What are you saying?"

"I'm saying that it's quite clear that your judgment as a general has become impaired by your personal connections. And that you've spent far too much attention on that little blonde boy." He shifted his massive bulk with a grimace. "The level of affection you give to him is utterly ridiculous, unheard of in terms of the Demacian Legion. You don't see any other generals running around with pictures of celebrities plastered all over their walls. It makes you look weak, Lux. Feminine. Ineffective."

Lux quivered with rage. "Why have you never said this before?"

"Because it hasn't interfered with our operations thus far."

"It's not interrupting operations now," she said, her voice rising. "Who came up with this plan, Garen? Merilyn?" Garen became very still. "That's what I thought. Has it occurred to you, Garen, that the Venerable Summoner could be taking advantage of you? That your personal connections have influenced you? As Garamond said –"

"'When you see a problem in others, check to see if it could be remedied in yourself,'" Garen finished. The fire of determination in his eyes turned to ash. Seeing the hurt trembling in her eyes, he placed a massive hand on her shoulder. The weight should have been comforting, but it wasn't. "Luxanna. Sister. There's no decisive plan in place yet, Lux. I urge you to consider thinking about helping us develop one."

"I will," Lux lied. Well, in a sense, it was true – she'd be thinking about it quite a bit, but she wouldn't be considering it. "Please keep me apprised of the situation."

"You won't betray us, will you, Lux? You won't tell the Noxians?"

"Of course not," she lied again. Lying was such a Noxian thing to do…but so was assassination.


	15. New Ties

Lux suffused his dreams now. Every moment since closing his eyes, her image appeared, dancing around the edges of his vision, beckoning to him. He relived diving into the water with her a hundred times before awaking. He could almost touch the tan expanse of her stomach.

_So much of my life is music and water_, Ezreal thought. Their miniature waterfall/hot tub bubbled and gurgled over the stones. Michael - _no, Ryland_ - dipped his toes in the surging water and strummed his etwahl, eyes closed. Smaller than Sona's, it was painted a deep earthen green and was pitched two octaves higher. Even though his specialty was the Ionian Clarinet, Ryland could play almost any instrument. Doing so kept his instincts sharp.

Breathing deeply, Ezreal allowed his mind to drift into the spring sunlight, the currents and the song. But he had to get going sooner or later.

Resigning himself to another long day, he stretched his legs, showered, and jogged with Ryland to the gym. Other champions were out taking morning walks. Teemo and Tristana were chattering excitedly in a bed of flowers. Zyra tended to roses alongside novice Summoners, no doubt giving them tips on keeping the blooms strong. Yi and Karma strolled arm in arm, discussing the finer points of Wuju Style. The scent of freshly-baked cinnamon muffins blended with water blossoms, and he could hear two Summoners singing an aria.

Despite the springtime cheer, his roommate was quiet. Ezreal broke the silence with a cough. "Everything alright?"

"I don't know." The two of them stopped in front of the gym, resting their hands on their knees. Ezreal noted that Michael (_Ryland, damnit_) had dark bruises under his eyes, and that his cheeks looked even more hollow than usual. Had he even slept?

"What's wrong?"

"Just...do you know anything about girls, Ezreal?"

Ezreal swallowed hard. Despite his and Ryland's rough training and the internal espionage, the idea of females still plagued them both. "I haven't a damn clue, Ryland. Katarina bothering you?"

"I don't know how to feel about her," Ryland muttered. "She just sort of molested me."

"You seemed to be enjoying it," Ezreal said with a wink.

"I suppose that's true. Her as a person, though...I just don't know." Ryland huffed. "She's mysterious. Not at all like Lux."

Ezreal started. "What do you mean?"

"Lux is just so -" _plain and boring and not right for you_, he thought, but didn't say.

"So what?" Ez, mindful of Ryland's admiration of him, watched his face carefully. The last thing he needed now was his roommate envying Lux. Not when all of them needed to ban together to prevent wrongful deaths.

"So different from Katarina. They're opposites." Ryland gave him a thin-lipped smile. "Sort of like us, I suppose."

"Michael - Ryland -"

"It's true though, isn't it?" Ryland mused. "You're the light, I'm the dark. You're loved. I'm hated. You're on the inside, and I'm not." The air around him shimmered with unspent power. Ezreal stepped back, feeling the hair on the nape of his neck stand erect.

"That's not true. The carries hate me."

"Maybe, but everyone else loves you."

"The Supports like you more. And trust me, I'm definitely not on 'the inside.' I never have been."

"You're inside the League," Ryland pointed out. The gray in his eyes turned stormy.

"I didn't want to be in the League. Other than that, I'm not a part of any group. You're going to be in the League soon." Ezreal placed his gauntlet on Ryland's shoulder and met his gaze. "We're more alike than you know. I've always been alone. Even if I am popular, I definitely don't feel it. I feel -"

He gritted his teeth. Ryland and his emotional powers. They made him want to confess things he didn't like to think about.

"You feel what?" Ryland asked, but he knew. Ezreal felt stupid, nervous, anxious, shy, depressed...and lonely. _God, so alone_. The alienation was like harsh spatterings of ice against his skin. "Why do you feel so alone when you know you aren't?"

Ezreal shrank back. "You - I -" He sighed, rubbing his forehead. Ryland, conscious of Ezreal's growing distress, morphed his aura of anger into one of empathy, and wrapped Ezreal in its soft, dove-white light. He felt Ez's heartbeat slow and the tension leave his muscles.

"Well, I know one thing we have in common for sure. We're clueless when it comes to ladies." Ryland tilted his head back. Tides of nervous laughter coursed out of him. He wiped his eyes and shook his head. "We can't win, can we?"

"We can win bot lane." Ezreal nudged him. "Come on."

Ryland watched as Ezreal jogged into the gym. His heart ached - it always had, he reflected. Either from his life, or from absorbing the sadness of others. If only there were someone to absorb his own.

* * *

Lux dressed up.

Garen would have teased her, if he'd noticed. But he wouldn't. He was too busy formulating plans to kill one of her friends. Her outfit - a purple silk shirt, diamond dewdrop earrings, and tight jeans - had only been worn once, to the Champion's Retreat. A summer barbeque a year ago.

She steadied herself as she walked through the Demacian lobby. A few Summoners and Champions looked up at her, then quickly away. Lux wondered what Garen had told them, then shook her head. It didn't matter.

She walked briskly to the Noxian Quarters.

She felt watched.

"Let them watch," she muttered. There were no visitation restrictions within the Institute. If they accused her of subterfuge, they'd have to confess their own plot first. And when that happened...

A tap on her shoulder made her whip around.

She was face to face with Merilyn.

Lux had rarely been this near to her, which was probably a good thing. From afar, Merilyn was a tall, flawless blonde – a perfect match for the head Summoner. Her façade didn't hold as well up close. Her makeup was thickly packed over large pores, and her thin lips were almost constantly curled in a sneer. Lux noted, surprised, that the roots of her hair were a dirty brown. She thought Merilyn was a natural blonde, given that she was such an enthusiastic Demacian…

Even as her mind whirled, Luxanna curtsied politely. "Good day, Venerable Summoner."

"Same to you, Lux. Were you present at my son's performance last night?"

Lux's heart racked her throat, but she forced herself to sound prim and proper. "Indeed I was. He performed very well, I thought. I could easily see him being a mage."

"Alas," Merilyn purred. "It appears his desires lie solely with his favorite carry, Ezreal. I suspect he will grasp every opportunity he has to be near his newfound friend."

_Oh Lord, I wish I were Katarina_. Yes, the Noxian assassin would be able to read Merilyn perfectly, like an open book with enormous print. Lux couldn't.

Taking a gamble, she said, "You seem slightly displeased with Michael's friendship. I thought that Ezreal having an ally would make him more likely to remain here, where he belongs."

"Me?" Merilyn's plucked eyebrows raised in surprise. "Displeased? If anything, I only wonder at their growing bond. I suspect it is something more than simply friendship."

Lux's eyes narrowed. "I'm afraid I don't take your meaning."

"Surely such a thing exists even in the Demacian Legion? Two young men, feeling more than friendship for one another? Feeling, perhaps, love or lust?" Merilyn shook her head sorrowfully. "I always respect Michael's choices, but I must confess I'm surprised Ezreal fell for him." Merilyn dabbed her mouth with the corner of her robe. "Oh, I apologize if this is too much information. I had a rather late night last night, convening with the other Summoners and what not."

"No, not at all. I understand needing someone to - confide in." Lux willed her voice to be as cold and steely as Garamond's sword. Random emotions beat the sides of her mind like the wings of frantic butterflies.

"I'm glad you understand. Well, I'll leave you to your business. I'm certain you have something very important to discuss with Katarina."

The Venerable Summoner's voice was normal as ever, but even Lux could sense the hatred roiling beneath her smooth tone. _I'm a target_, she thought helplessly. _Garamond help me. One of the top Generals in the Demacian Legion is marked for assassination._

Summoning the last reserves of her willpower, Lux bowed and hurried away into the Noxian Quarters, feeling Merilyn's intent gaze on the small of her back.

* * *

The Noxian Quarters were quiet, save for the peaceful ticking of a black and gold grandfather clock. The walls, a dark maroon, were covered with pictures of Noxian generals clothed in customary black armor. Lux took a deep breath and collapsed into a leather armchair by the clock.

Katarina would come to her. All Noxians, it seemed, had a tie to the emotional realm. The Demacians often rumored them to be psychic.

_Some of them clearly are_, Lux thought. Even those that aren't totally psychic seem to know things other people wouldn't. When it will rain a week in advance. What cards their opponents in poker are holding.

_What route the Demacian Legion will take_, Lux thought, closing her eyes. Though it had happened years ago, the unexpected ambush near Shurimana was still fresh in her memory. There was no way Noxus could've known. Every member of her contingent was handpicked. Furthermore, even the soldiers hadn't known where they were going. And how could Noxus get intelligence on something only she had known?

Never mind. If there's one thing the teachings of Garamond taught her, it was to focus only on the problems of the present.

She pulled her mind back to last night and tried not to laugh wildly._ I'm sure Ezreal's quite heterosexual, Merilyn_, Lux thought, recalling his soft lips and warm skin. His blond hair sparkling in the light from the pool. His rough, eager hands enveloping her waist.

Merilyn knew that the Demacian Legion had an aggressive anti-affection policy against both heterosexual and homosexual escapades. Though homosexuality was allowed among the civilians, in the military it was seen as weakness. That she'd sacrifice her son to tarnish Ezreal's reputation...that was dirty.

Demacia's policy was completely opposite of Noxus'. As usual.

Lux recalled a late-night conversation with Katarina. "The military does not care. If anything, it encourages passionate affairs because we believe passion feeds warrior-like tendencies. As long as it isn't excessive, you can be in love with anyone or anything."

"Doesn't that start a lot of rumors? I mean, Swain and Darius are pretty close, aren't they?"

Katarina had shrugged, red lips coiled around a smuggled cigarette. The champions weren't supposed to smoke. "We don't care. They're people just like us."

Lux shook her head at the memory. If she had been active in the military, the merest hint of her attraction to Ezreal would be enough to get her demoted. Demacians focused on truth and justice only. Emotion was weakness.

Just one more thing separating the two sides.

Yet, though Demacia and Noxus opposed each other in all aspects, somehow she and Katarina had found common ground.

Perhaps it was their similar attitude that war was one giant game, and when they weren't playing on the opposite teams, they could share camaraderie. They swapped battle stories, laughing about bad tactical decisions.

_We're so different, though. I'm not sure why we're such good friends_…Even their ideas about the afterlife radically differed.

Unlike Lux, who believed in the popular idea of a heaven full of good people, Katarina thought that existence simply continued. That their same life-essence would find its way back into different bodies, again and again until the end of time. Thus, dying wasn't an ending for Kat. It was a new beginning.

Katarina flung open the doors leading from the lobby to the bedrooms. "Lux!" she called. "What is happening?"

Noxians. They seemed to know everything. And they always knew when they had visitors.

* * *

When Lux murmured what she knew of the plot, Katarina glanced around the empty lobby and tugged Lux's arm. "Come to my room. I sweep it for bugs every night."

"Bugs?" Lux blinked in confusion. "If there's a lice problem, I'm sure the novice Summoners can fix it."

Katarina bit her lip to stifle a laugh. "What do they teach you in Demacian training school? How to put on your underwear?"

"That's not very nice."

Katarina shook her head. No time to banter with Lux. If Merilyn was involved, it was serious. "Bugs, sweetheart. Things that record what we're saying. We need to avoid them. Come with me."

Lux hurried alongside Katarina, passing a few of the Noxians. Seeing them made Lux feel – odd. _They seem so normal_, she thought. Swain was rocking in a chair outside his room, feeding bits of bread to his raven Beatrice. The door to Darius' room was open. Lux glimpsed him polishing his armor. A scratchy melody issued from an old phonograph in his room, playing a popular Noxian opera.

Draven's door was open, too.

Was the warrior building a bird house?

_Am I awake_?

"You're awake," Katarina assured her. "Contrary to popular belief, Noxians aren't always fighting and fucking. That's just most of the time."

"Katarina!" Lux flinched. Swain. "What's the hurry, my dear?"

He hobbled towards the girls. Lux shivered. Without his face-wrap, she could see how mangled and scarred his mouth was. Wounds from Demacian troops.

His fuzzy maroon bathrobe and velvet slippers made him appear old and fragile.

Katarina stood up straighter. Lux almost did the same, then remembered that she and Swain were the same rank, despite him possessing decades more of experience. "Girly gossip time, sir."

Jericho Swain covered his lips. "I highly doubt that."

"I'll inform you of the gossip when we are finished discussing it."

Swain appraised Lux, hand still hiding his disfigured face. "While I understand that no rule exists preventing the comingling of sides, I find it a little strange that a Demacian General is present in our Quarters. No hard feelings, General Crownguard."

"None taken, General Swain."

"'To all there is a purpose,'" Katarina murmured, quoting something. Swain inclined his head.

"Yes, yes. That's what I'm afraid of. Please keep me apprised of the situation."

_That's exactly what I said to Garen_, Lux thought. _Generals are the same, no matter where they come from. _

"Come on," Katarina hissed, startling Lux from her reverie. She pulled the General into her room and slammed the door.

Lux took a seat on Katarina's plush bedspread, bracing herself for Kat's outburst. Kat didn't keep her waiting.

"Demacians are so _stupid_!" she snarled. "What kind of bright decision is it to try and assassinate an assassin? Do they not know who I am?" She tugged the front of Lux's shirt, green eyes sparking with anger. "I am Katarina Du Couteau."

"I am well aware," Lux said. "You are the Hand of Noxus. Believe me, this was not my idea." Suddenly overwhelmed, she buried her head in her hands. "I don't understand…I thought Demacians wanted peace. The Institute of War is the closest thing we'll ever get to a truce, and Merilyn wants to ruin it."

Katarina collapsed next to her. "Are you sure you heard her correctly? Tell me what happened."

"I was by the Champions' Retreat –"

"Why? Why so late at night?"

Lux took a deep breath. "I was with Ezreal."

Katarina tugged at her brilliant, fiery hair. "Oh lord, maybe it is girly gossip time."

"That's not the important thing. We were in the pool - and we heard Merilyn and a bunch of Demacians come by and talk about killing you. And then Garen came to tell me about it later that night. And then Merilyn stopped me on the way over here and now I'm dead too!"

Lux's voice rose uncontrollably. The fear and anger she'd suppressed for so long poured out of her.

_The sword is the image of perfection, _she heard Garamond intone in her mind. Sobbing, she focused on Garamond's sword – the winking blade, the deadly edge. But when she opened her eyes and saw Katarina leaning over her, concerned, she burst into fresh tears. _Garamond would have never sided with the Noxians. He would've killed them all and rejoiced with a tankard of mead._

Katarina hugged her tightly. In that embrace, Lux felt Kat's affection for her sister Cassiopeia. The idea that a Noxian assassin viewed her as a family member made her cry harder.

_How long has it been_? She thought distantly, feeling separated from her shuddering body. _I remember my first week of training. I cried once from pain, in my sleep, and General Lyons talked to me the next day and told me if I cried again I'd get kicked out of the military. _Women don't serve as much as men and this is why. Crying distresses the soldiers. _He taught me to meditate on Garamond's Sword. So it's been years since I've cried. _

She hugged Katarina back, burrowing her face in the assassin's hair. Its scent reminded her of cherries.

"Lux, listen to me. This isn't about Demacia and Noxus. It's about the Institute. It's about keeping it together. Siding with me doesn't mean you sympathize with Noxus, alright? It just means you support the Institute."

Lux mumbled something into Katarina's shoulder.

"What?"

_But what if I do_? She rubbed at her face, hiccupping. Katarina left to find a box of tissues. Lux blew her nose, feeling like a complete mess. _I'm sure I look like it, too. Thank goodness Ezreal isn't here_.

"This reminds me of the time Cassiopeia's date turned her down for a ball." Katarina smiled at the memory. "She nearly lost her mind. Daddy had to buy her a new dress. She ended up seducing a viscount from a different region and arriving to the ball in an ivory carriage pulled by six black mustangs." Kat laughed. Lux smiled through her tears.

"I'm nothing like that."

"No, but your sadness is." She grabbed the General's shoulders. "You must relax. Nothing bad will happen."

"You sound like me talking to my troops."

"Leave the military out of this for just a few seconds."

Lux nodded. "I'll try."

Katarina eyed her bleary face. "The Demacians don't teach you how to cope with feelings, do they?"

"I thought you said to leave the military out of this."

"True, true." Katarina idly stroked Lux's hair. "So, you're probably a target. I'm a target. Swain and Darius are, obviously. Who else?"

Lux shook her head. "I'm not sure who else. Merilyn and Garen both thought that killing the three of you would halt Noxian forces entirely."

Katarina's emerald eyes slitted. "How dense can they be? It's not as if Jericho and Darius are commanding forces right now. We're at the Institute. They are already operating without us."

"I guess…I guess that they think it would demoralize the troops."

Katarina snorted. "Most of them probably want us all dead anyways. It wouldn't matter."

"It would matter to the Demacians." She sighed and decided to confide in Kat. "Our troops aren't doing so well. There hasn't been a decisive victory for a long time, particularly because I and Garen are here, not commanding either."

"There haven't been many engagements, have there?"

"No...For all intents and purposes, the war has halted."

Katarina nibbled her thumbnail. "Interesting. If the war has nearly stopped, I think the sudden deaths of three key Noxian officers would only restart the fighting." Her creamy brow furrowed. Then her eyes widened as she hit upon a realization.

She took Lux by the shoulders again. Lux could feel the emotional power simmering off of her – a small amount, compared to Michael's, but still there, flickering around the edges of her consciousness.  
"Lux, I'm going to tell you a few things you might not like," she said slowly. "But it is best for you to hear them, before things get bad. I want you to understand."

Lux breathed deeply. Far away, she could hear the steady ticks of the ancient grandfather clock. Time.

"I'm ready for anything."


	16. Carry Me

Merilyn lifted her cup of tea to her mouth with a tiny sigh.

She dreaded her weekly appearance at Darrigan's meetings, but knew that her absence would leave questions swirling in her wake, like mysterious ripples behind a seafaring vessel. Besides, it was best she kept on top of the Summoners' concerns. All the better to manipulate them.

The Summoners sat around Darrigan's coffee table, nibbling the cookies she'd prepared. The talk was all about Ezreal.

"I think he'll stay, Venerable Summoners. I've noticed that he's become quite fond of both your son and Luxanna in his short time here," Zandred said eagerly.

"Yes, but what about the other carries' attitudes towards him?" A young Summoner, only just promoted from Novice, wrinkled her brow. Merilyn tried to recall her name. Ah. Erinae. "I've recently spoken to Ashe and Caitlyn. There's talk circulating of a mutiny."

Merilyn hid her catlike smile behind her tea. The mutiny would coincide nicely with her plot. If the two occurred at the same time, the Institute would be left in ashes.

And she would be free.

Darrigan puffed like a walrus. Such a bold man. Stupid, too. A dangerous combination. "Mutiny? What sort of mutiny could the Champions possibly perform? It isn't as if we're keeping them captive. They are free to leave."

Erinae took a big swallow of her tea. "Isn't that even more worrisome? If the Champions leave, we have no League. The tentative peace we have could be broken again."

There were those words again. 'Tentative peace.' Such a peace proved quite annoying to someone deeply invested in Demacian weapons' stock…among other things.

Darrigan turned to her. "Merilyn, what do you think?"

Merilyn forced the light of concern into her eyes. "I think it's understandable to be worried. Zandred and Erinae, the two of you should try to work out the conflict between Ezreal and the other Carries." Pouring more tea, she asked, "What exactly is the nature of the conflict, anyways? Personal problems? Romantic?"

Erinae coughed. The Novice sitting next to her pounded her on the back, and the feisty Summoner shot him a harsh look. "The conflict is that Ezreal always wins."

Merilyn sniffed derisively. "Surely you can't be implying that the mere selection of Ezreal guarantees a Summoner victory."

"If it didn't, why is he the only Champion whose performances are monitored by the Board of Summoners?" Erinae glowered. Merilyn wondered what sort of investment the young woman had in the other Carries. _Probably some minute lesbian fling with Caitlyn or Ashe. Ha. _

Zandred bowed his head. The Summoner, usually so energetic, looked tired. He was acting as Ezreal's agent. Whenever a person had a question about the young champion, they went to Zandred. _Why is he so strong? What are we going to do about it? Can I meet with him? Is he Noxian? _Darrigan was also pressuring him to keep the boy here at the Institute.

_The better to keep an eye on Ezreal_, Merilyn thought. _He could be a dangerous weapon if he fell into the wrong hands. _

Zandred turned his exhausted violet eyes to meet Erinae's expressive gold ones. "You and I have to formulate a plan. I think we can improve relations between Ezreal and the carries, but we have to try really hard."

"I'm not denying that," Erinae said defensively. "But how? How do we fix their relations when the carries already have a vendetta against him?"

Zandred sighed through his nose. "We shouldn't trouble the Venerable Summoners with our trifling problems. Meet me at Central Fountain later tonight."

One of the two Novices cleared his throat. "Can we come too? We helped Ez move in here."

Zandred shrugged. "I don't see why not. By the bye, Turley. Have you asked Ezreal how his room service is?"

Turley coughed nervously. "I haven't, but I'll get it done right away, sir. Jatt, will you come with? I think he likes you more."

Merilyn realized that the two Novices were actually afraid to speak to Ezreal and had to smother a laugh. What was it like, fearing people? She didn't remember. It was her fearlessness that led her to gentle the Noxian General, the very one who swung his enormous axes around the Rift.

She sighed again wistfully, recalling the sweat gleaming on his muscles. Such a long time ago, that was.

Darrigan glanced at her, eyes laden with compassion. Such a stupid man. "Is everything okay?"

Merilyn sipped her tea and smiled. "Everything is simply wonderful."

* * *

Katarina paced around her small room like a caged cougar. Lux's brain refused to form a thought, so she simply admired Katarina's graceful walk.

"These things I'm going to tell you. I want you to know that they are from my perspective. There is no absolute truth."

"Except that the truth isn't absolute?" Lux's laughed drily.

Katarina nodded. "Lux…you were born into a militant society. Even when there isn't a war, Demacia maintains a strong army. It has for many, many years. Your society revolves around it."

"What do you mean?"

"Think about it. The celebrations you have – they're all about the military and how great Demacia is, aren't they?"

Lux struggled to think. _Lord, no wonder they say crying is weakness. I feel so useless right now_.

"I suppose you're right," she murmured. "Our biggest celebration is Demacia Day."

Katarina nodded again, two sharp movements of her head. "You've always been told that Demacia is the greatest force in the entire world, haven't you? That you are always right?"

"Yes," Lux sighed. "I have."

"That war is honorable?"

_I see where this is going_, Lux thought, and sighed even more heavily. "It isn't, is it? War isn't honorable. People die for no reason."

"Not only that – since your society is focused upon war, it has to make up lies about it. To keep your economy active."

Lux rested her head on Katarina's pillows. "But everyone thinks war is honorable."

"That's probably true. What I'm getting at is simple – Demacia needs war the way Noxus needs hot women, gambling and alcohol."

That startled a genuine chuckle out of her. Katarina always knew how to make her smile.

"What does that mean for us?"

Katarina sat down at last. "It gives Merilyn a reason to do this. Actually, a lot of reasons."

Lux cast about her mind, but couldn't come up with any. "You'll have to explain them to me."

"Okay. First, if she has any economic interest in Demacia, which I'm guessing she does, the stalemate right now is probably hurting sales."

"It's a temporary peace."

Katarina grinned. "That's a stalemate in Noxian terms. Anyways, she knows that killing me, Darius and Swain will anger the Noxians or inspire the Demacians. Either way, she wins. Secondly, this plot is going to upset the entire Institute. It's basically going to end up on its ass."

Blearily, Lux rubbed at her blue eyes once more. "Why is that a good thing? Why would she want that?"

"The Institute is what created the peace, remember? Get rid of it and there you go – constant war, 24/7. Thirdly, she probably has a grudge against Darius."

Lux blinked. "Excuse me?"

Katarina leaned over her. Her long red hair tickled Lux's nose. "Can you keep a secret? Girly gossip time?"

"I have a lot of them. Let's just add one more."

Katarina leaned closer, her hand resting on Lux's lower stomach. Lux fought the urge to cringe – touching people was a purely Noxian thing. Demacians never touched each other. She could count the number of times she had hugged Garen on one hand.

Katarina's lips brushed her ear. She whispered, "Ryland is Darius' son."

"Who's Ryland?"

"Michael."

"Oh." Lux blinked furiously. "Wait…what?"

Katarina sat back up, and it was true – there was a certain element of "girly gossip time" on her face. The twinkle in her eyes didn't fit the situation at all.

"Long ago, Merilyn had a tryst with Darius. Ryland is the product of that."

"Does he know that? Does Ryland know his father?"

"No." Katarina sighed. "Swain told Darius to keep it a secret for obvious purposes. Darius didn't want to rock the boat."

"Are you ever going to tell Mi – Ryland? That poor child."

"I have a feeling we will be telling him soon enough. It certainly explains things, doesn't it?"

"Like his black hair? Yeah, I suppose it does."

Katarina smacked her stomach gently. "You are so dense sometimes, I swear! What about the fact that he hasn't been admitted to the League? What about his emotional, psychic powers? Darius himself doesn't have them – neither does Draven – but their mother was a great seer."

Lux wasn't paying attention. _Ezreal is friends with Darius' son…why is everything so complicated? _

"So what are we going to do until this blows over?"

"What else would girls do? We're going to have a Girly Gossip Sleepover." Katarina saw Lux's blank stare and smiled. "It's safer for you to be here right now."

"It's safer for me to be in the Noxian Quarters than the Demacian ones?"

"Hey. Who's trying to kill who here?" Katarina's eyes glimmered with muted anger. "For once, it's not the Noxians' fault. I'm trying to prevent all the bloodshed I can."

"You – you're going to protect me?"

"Yes."

"Why?" _Wouldn't it be easier for me to die? Isn't that what you want? Aren't we on opposite sides? _

"Why not?" Katarina poked her in the ribs. "Ryland and Ezreal are friends. I think that opens the door for some very interesting…opportunities." She smiled lazily, twirling a strand of red hair around her index finger.

"You want to protect me so I can take part in an orgy? Noxians," Lux sighed.

"Better than not protecting you at all." Katarina winked. "That's not really the reason. If you must know, I enjoy your company. I'm surrounded by guys all the time since Riven defected. It's refreshing to have –"

"Girly gossip time." Lux sat silently for a moment. "Oh, well. Come with me to get my things. Maybe we can do each other's nails."

* * *

"How's it feel? Do you feel the burn?"

"I burn in places I didn't think were possible," Ezreal said. He tried to sound friendly, but caught himself wondering, _Is Malik an agent of Merilyn? Does he watch us and monitor what we're saying?_

A coil of fear wormed its way through Ez's stomach. He trusted what Lux said to do – act normally and try not to create any undue suspicion. Still, the idea that everyone might have a double motive unsettled him.

Malik seemed normal enough. "It'll get easier. Give it a week. You might end up being a fitness junkie like yours truly."

Ryland scoffed. "I doubt the Explorer's going to explore the gym much more." Ez swatted him.

As they made their way out the door, Ezreal struggled to keep his voice neutral. His advisor had always told him to keep things in the open. That seemed like sound advice, given the rising complications in the Institute. "Hey, Ryland? Do you – ah –"

"Do I what?"

"Do you have, like, I dunno." Red bloomed in Ezreal's cheeks. He flushed down to his collarbone, averting his gaze from Ryland's questing glance.

"Do I have a crush on you?"

Ezreal nodded mutely, for once grateful for Ryland's mind reading capabilities.

Ryland chuckled. "No, no. Sorry if I gave you the wrong idea. I guess – what I feel for you – I just really want to be your friend. I look up to you."

"Really? Because you're taller." Ezreal shook his head. "Sorry. That was lame."

"It's okay." Ryland leaned on Ezreal as he fished a pebble from his shoe. "What makes you ask?"

"I just wondered."

Ryland didn't pursue it. Instead, he looked down at his wristwatch. "You're going to be summoned soon. First match of the day starts in five minutes."

Ezreal cursed and ran a distracted hand through his hair. "There's so much other stuff going on that I almost forgot the main purpose of the Institute."

"I know that feeling. God, I hope that they let me into the League soon."

"We would dominate bottom lane so easily."

"I know." Ryland smiled at him, clasping his shoulder. "I'm looking forward to it. We're going to be unstoppable."

Ezreal opened his mouth to say something else, but lost himself in the ringing gongs that indicated he was being Summoned. Ryland waved at him. _Come to Central Fountain when you're done_, he sent him. _Lux, Kat and I will all be there_.

_Okay. Wish me luck_.

_I always do_.

* * *

The first thing Ezreal noticed, after being teleported to the Rift, was that he was on Purple Side. The second was Ashe staring at him with an unrestrained fury.

The Avarosan warrior and Freljordian Queen snarled, taking Ezreal aback. He had no idea such a high-bred face was capable of that expression. If they were on enemy teams, he'd be nearly dead by now.

"What the hell? Who's bot?"

Ezreal looked to his other teammates. Renekton – an obvious choice for top. Hecarim was jungling. "Am I mid?"

"I am." Diana grinned wolfishly. "I'm going to destroy Lissandra." Her warrior-esque makeup transformed her face from beautiful to deadly.

"Then who's bot?" Ashe asked again. She was clearly perturbed. "There's been a mistake."

"You're Support." Ezreal shook his head, picking up a long sword and two bubbling red health pots. _Great. First match of the day and I'm matched with someone who hates me._

Ashe raised herself to her full height and peered into Ezreal's eyes. "I am not a Support. I am a carry."

"This time I'm not sure that's true. We have three tanky people. Hecarim can probably grab our Aegis, right?" Hecarim nodded. "It makes sense in this situation to have a more damage-oriented Support." He was talking fast, he knew. Time was ticking. "Look." He grabbed Ashe's thin shoulder and squeezed it. "I know you don't like me and I know you're capable of being a carry, but I need you to help me out. Please. Just this one game."

Ashe breathed out and slowly nodded. "Let's defeat them. Sejuani's on the other team and I want to see her fall."

Ezreal refrained from mentioning that truces were desired on the Rift. Instead, he began jogging steadily down his lane with Ashe on his heels. Her cape fluttered in the breeze. "I'm counting on you!" he called.

"I won't fail you!" she shouted back, followed by a war cry in the Avarosan dialect.

The enemy team was tanky as well. Sejauni riding around the jungle. Leona as a support. Graves peered at him over the twin barrels of his shotgun and sneered. Nasus was top.

_This entire match is a grudge match_, he thought. Diana and Leona, Ashe and Sejuani and Lissandra, Renekton and Nasus. Only he, Hecarim and Graves were fighting normally.

"I see you don't do enough damage yourself, E-Z," Graves drawled. "Had to bring the princess along."

"That's Queen to you, Malcolm," Ashe whispered. She loosed a volley of icy arrows from her bow. They bounced off of Leona, who blocked Graves from damage.

"Is that all you got?" Graves laughed and fired a buckshot, catching Ashe off-guard. Her health seemed to vanish.

"Stay back," Ezreal hissed. "We have no healing."

"Right." Ashe took a few steps, side-stepping Leona's Zenith Blade. If she landed it, they were probably both dead. "Look out! Sej is here!"

Ezreal staggered back, briefly off-center from Graves' Smoke Screen. When his eyes cleared of grit, he saw Sejuani bearing down on him astride her massive boar. With a shout he Arcane Shifted away. Ashe fired a Frost Shot, slowing the pig.

The Queen shouted something in Freljordian language – clearly an insult. Sejuani's mount unleashed a deep-throated roar and charged towards them both.

The turret locked onto Sej and pounded her ferociously. She didn't slow her assault. Leona's reflexes weren't fast enough as she Zenith Bladed to Ezreal, accidentally leaping to Ashe.

Suddenly, three members of the enemy team were scrambling around bottom turret, struggling to catch Ezreal and Ashe.

Ezreal tried his hardest to keep the cacophony from overwhelming his senses. _Stay focused_, he thought. _Exploit your advantage_. He fired a Mystic Shot at Graves. Almost simultaneously, he Arcane Shifted away from Leona's exploding Eclipse.

The world seemed to slow down as he fired a regular attack onto Sejuani. The thin bolt connected an instant before a final strike from the turret felled her. _First Blood!_ Leona's eyes widened in fear as Ezreal hit her once, too, before the turret brought her down.

"So stupid!" Graves shouted. But his teammates weren't there to hear him.

Ashe threw another Frost Shot arrow in his direction, bringing his easy stride to a crawl. It was simple for Ezreal to run towards him, Ignite him, and follow up with auto-attacks. Eventually the Outlaw collapsed, hatred playing across his face.

He and Ashe stood in silence. "Was that a Triple Kill?" Ashe asked quietly. She covered her mouth to keep from laughing.

"Yeah…I'm going to have to promote that turret to Support. Good job," he added, shaking her hand. He caught a trace of pleasure in Ashe's eyes. "You're handling this really well."

"Thank you. That means a lot, coming from the best carry in the game."

Ez began firing upon the minions. "That's up for debate. You beat me pretty hard late game."

"Perhaps." Ashe's smile was elusive and unreadable as the mist swaddling the mountains of Freljord. "I doubt the Summoners would debate that very much."

After giving up the triple kill, the enemy team played very cautiously. Once, Lissandra came down with Sejuani to four-man gank. Leona missed her Solar Flare. Ashe Flashed and Ezreal Arcane Shifted behind the turret, and the enemy team, hesitant to fight the turret again, resumed their places.

Their team won despite their dearth of magic damage. Ezreal gave Ashe a quick hug at the match's end, startling her.

She took a step back. Now that Sejuani and Lissandra had fallen, she had no interest in working with Ezreal. He had served his purpose.

"Sorry." Ezreal blushed a brilliant red. "I – I always hug my Support after my games. It's thanks to you that I got that other triple kill."

"That was a rather nice Enchanted Crystal Arrow, wasn't it?" Ashe examined the tips of her arrows, uninterested in him.

"You were amazing," Ezreal blurted. For a moment, Ashe's cold eyes softened slightly. Then Graves sauntered towards them.

For a desperate moment, Ezreal wished he looked more like Malcolm Graves. More manly. The Outlaw was at least half a foot taller than him, his sharp face outlined by dark stubble. His eyes were older than his years.

_If I looked as strong as him, I doubt the carries would be as angry about me beating them. Part of them getting pissed is because I look so weak and pathetic. _

"Hopefully the Summoners don't adopt double-carry bot," Graves muttered. "Hate to see a carry like you reduced to supporting pretty boy here. You comin' to breakfast with us?" His eyes were purposely averted from Ezreal's.

Ashe glanced once more at Ez, who tried to hide his hurt at being entirely ignored and uninvited. "Yeah, sure. Hopefully Caitlyn baked muffins. They're almost as good as her cupcakes."

"I think Tristana made some sort of Yordle breakfast-bowl." Graves' nose wrinkled. "We'll have to see." Like a true gentleman, he offered his arm to Ashe, who took it. Without so much as a backward glance, they left Ezreal standing alone at the exit of Summoner's Rift.

Their rejection sat like a mound of broken glass at the bottom of his esophagus. He swallowed hard. _Now's not the time to cry, Ezreal. Not in front of people. _

_But I thought it was going so well. If I were socially competent, I think I could've made a friend. How was I supposed to know that an Avarosan warrior wouldn't like hugs? Everyone likes hugs. _

_Not from someone they hate,_ he responded to himself. _And talking to yourself probably isn't going to win you any more friends either._

Angrily, he rubbed his eyes. There was no time to be upset – the Summoning gongs were already ringing in his head again.

_Sometimes I want to leave the Institute so badly. But I can't. Lux. Ryland. Katarina. I have to stay strong. _He took a deep breath as the Summoners sent him whirling through the Rift once more.


	17. The Balance (Part 1)

When Katarina and Lux walked arm-in-arm into the Demacian Quarters, they were greeted by frosty silence. Fiora and Jarvan exchanged a sharp glance; the Summoners' mouths snapped shut. All told, about thirty Summoners had convened in the lobby.

Lux's stomach sank. Were they all in on the assassination plot? There was no way to be sure, but she had to assume they were.

She was a warrior, but thirty people against two sounded difficult, and that wasn't even counting Fiora, and Garen, and Jarvan.

Garen shoved through the crowd. His eyes - usually as hard as marble - showed the depth of his hurt. Lux shrank back as he stopped in front of them, his bulk overpowering Katarina's slim frame.

"What's going on?"

Lux opened her mouth, but her tongue was dry and paralyzed.

"Prior to The Summoners' Cup, Lux and I would like to take a little furlough." Katarina smiled. "So I figured she could come stay with me for a while, before we really have to start training. Is there a problem?"

Garen struggled to meet Lux's eyes. She deliberately averted her gaze. What was he thinking? Did he think Katarina had kidnapped her? That she had betrayed him?

"No, there's no problem. It's just a little sudden."

Katarina spread her hands. If she was nervous, Lux couldn't detect a single trace of it. "If you need Lux here, it's no big deal. We were just going to chill."

"I wish I had someone to chill with. J4?" Jarvan tried to answer Garen's grin, but failed. The Summoners coughed awkwardly.

Garen turned back to the women, struggling to keep his face neutral.

He at last met her eyes. Lux cringed inwardly, seeing the hurt, fear, bewilderment clouding them. "I'll see you later, sis."

"I won't be gone long, brother." Impulsively, she flung her hands around his neck and kissed his cheek. Garen's body froze. He wasn't accustomed to being touched. "We'll see each other on the Rift."

"True. If you need anything, let me know." With one last squeeze, he released her. Lux and Katarina hurried to Lux's room, almost jogging.

The red-headed assassin's calm demeanor was somehow cold. Her glossy wild-fire hair framed her face, but provided no warmth.

_This is who I'm trusting_, Lux thought. _This frozen, unshakable assassin_. She fought a spate of fresh tears.

Katarina must have sensed her feelings. "You okay, kid?"

"I think so. What do I need to bring."

"Clothes. Condoms. I don't know. Whatever you need."

Lux laughed. "I'd think you'd be the one needing protection."

Katarina shrugged, smirking. "Noxians are big fans of free love."

"Guess that explains Ryland, then," Lux murmured. She flung her favorite outfits into a small blue knapsack, then grabbed her makeup and her custom _Icathian Moonlight_ bodywash.

Seeing the look of loss on her face, Katarina hugged her. "You'll be back here. I promise."

"But how do you know?" Lux whispered. She grabbed her Ezreal plushie, clutching it tightly.

"Who can out-assassinate an assassin? No one, that's who." Katarina, seeing the plushie, grinned. "You think Ezreal's gonna let anyone get to you?"

Lux blinked. "Ezreal would protect me?"

"He has no friends here, not besides you and I and Ryland and maybe the Supports." Katarina cocked her head, listening to Garen's heavy footsteps. She whispered, "Let's go."

Lux breathed in the scent of her room. Her little chapel dedicated to Ezreal.

She didn't need it anymore, now that she had him. Taking Katarina's hand, she walked out of the Quarters and into the warm spring sunlight.

Ryland stalked into the Support Quarters, feeling like an intruder. His tight black shirt revealed his growing muscles as they twitched with tension.

Walking silently, he made his way past the Void section, acknowledging Kassadin with a nod.

Past the huge, old tree in the Supports' lobby. He thudded the trunk once for good luck.

The other Supports were seated in the pavilion outside, meditating. Ryland breathed in the scent of spring blossoms, his nostrils flaring like a wolf's.

Soraka, Taric and Sona were wearing flowing white robes lined with strips of gold. Cross-legged, they hummed incantations that sounded almost like prayers. Ryland heard something about peace, how truth was the fruit of plenty.

This was a new incantation, one they hadn't taught him. He closed his eyes, his fingers instinctively picking out the melody of the chant on an invisible clarinet.

Taric, Soraka and Sona's eyes opened simultaneously, regarding him.

"Michael. Join us?" Taric nodded to a vacant seat at his left.

"Sure thing." He stooped, his knees popping. "I prefer to be called Ryland now, by the way."

Soraka nodded in approval, her moon-silver hair flowing over her violet shoulders. Her golden, almond-shaped eyes glowed with warmth. "I like that name. It's strong. Fitting for you."

Sona frowned slightly. Ryland could sense her sending a question to Taric. Taric nodded. "It is of Noxian origin, isn't it?"

Ryland bowed his head. "I'm nonpartisan, but yes, it is. I prefer it to Michael because of its origin."

"The Void Wolf?" Lulu asked, wide-eyed. "I love those stories!"

Taric smiled at the rest of the group. "Now that Ryland's here, any matters to discuss? Nothing's too trivial."

Ryland swallowed. It wasn't the right time to bring up any talk of assassination. Besides, here, in the Supports' soothing company, the idea of a bloodthirsty plot seemed even less than unlikely - it seemed ridiculous. Who could possibly disturb the peace?

Karma cleared her throat. The mischievous light in her eyes was dimmer than usual. "I - I don't know."

Nami nodded encouragingly, the tips of her fins quivering. "You can talk about it here, if you like."

"It's Yi," she blurted, then covered her mouth with one flowing sleeve.

"What's wrong?" Taric asked gently.

Karma's pale pink lips trembled. "I think I'm in love with him."

"Ordinarily that'd be cause for celebration," Soraka said, clasping her hands. Ryland traced the white markings on her velvety thighs and arms. He wondered what Katarina would look like with those same markings in black...swallowing hard, he suppressed his wave of desire.

"It would be a celebration if he felt the same way."

"Does he not like you?" Taric's face betrayed his surprise. "I thought you'd be the perfect companion for him."

Karma snapped open a fan and covered her face. "I thought so too. It appears that carnal attachment is not compatible with the form of Wuju Style he follows."

Nami reached out and patted Karma on the shoulder. The fan-wielder shuddered with grief.

Taric sighed. "Tell him to meditate more. I think he'll find that you would be a great helper for him. He's probably afraid to let his feelings show. A lot of duelists are that way."

"Yes. Out of touch with his emotions." Soraka massaged her temples. "Many people are. They forget that they are part of the natural world. Any emotion is natural and healthy in moderation."

_Even my lust for Katarina?_ Ryland wondered. He saw Taric look at him sharply and had to stop thinking about it. In the Supports' Quarters, almost everyone had at least rudimentary mind-reading ability.

"Have something to share, Ryland?"

Ryland looked at the beings who had trained him so hard for the past eight months. He felt their warm auras brushing against his, encouraging him. He knew he could tell them anything.

"There are three things bothering me. The first is getting into the League. Someone has me blocked. I fear it is my mother."

Taric and Soraka traded unreadable looks. "Go on," Taric said at last.

"They're going to have to reach a decision soon...do you think I'm ready to be in the League?"

Lulu snorted. "You're more ready than some Champions I know."

"I concur." Soraka patted his shoulder. Sona plucked a few notes that indicated her agreement.

Ryland swallowed. "I've also become...involved with...Katarina."

"In what capacity?" Taric grinned slyly.

"I've - I've gotten to know her."

The Supports' eyes glittered with laughter. He wondered what they were thinking - he unfurled his mental tendrils. _Our little awkward Michael, grown up. I'm so proud_, Taric was thinking.

_Katarina is a fantastic match for him_, Soraka sent to Sona.

_She's a little wild for him. But I think they'll balance each other out_, Sona sent back.

_He's so lucky...if only I could have Yi_. Only Karma's thoughts were tinged with sadness, as blue as brittle autumn skies.

"What else can possibly be bothering you at a time like this?" Taric asked. He sat forward.

Ryland swallowed. "Ezreal."

The Supports sat back, small frowns replacing their smiles. He couldn't sense what they were thinking now, not without really invading their privacy.

They knew how much he loved him, and how that love transcended anything sexual or carnal. It was something close to worship.

Taric had confessed once that the depth of Ryland's love for Ezreal had scared him.

"What about Ezreal?" Soraka nibbled her nails.

"I -" Ryland shrugged helplessly.

"My advice?" Taric patted his head. "Stick with Katarina."

"I am - I just -" Ryland shook his head.

"Stick with Katarina," Soraka echoed. Her eyes had grown sorrowful. There was no easy answer for Ryland when it came to Ezreal, mostly because the other Champions didn't know precisely what Ryland wanted.

If it had been simple love or lust, it would be easier to deal with. But the worshipful feeling - the deep desire for friendship -

No one knew what to tell him.

Except to "Stick with Katarina."

Ryland nodded. "I'll do my best to stick with her. She's a wild one."

"True," Taric began. He was interrupted by a little Novice Summoner who darted through their meditation circle and thrust a white envelope into Ryland's hand. The Summoner's head was covered entirely by his too-large blue robe.

The skin on Ryland's back began to crawl. Was this it? Was his life about to end by an unseen blade?

Then he read the note and relaxed.

_Join me, Lux, Kat and Ezreal at Central Fountain tonight at 6 o'clock. Your friend, Zandred._

Soraka's eyes narrowed. "Why so nervous about a note, if you don't mind me asking?"

"I, ah, I'm awaiting news on whether or not I'm in the League. I apologize if I scared you." Ryland scrambled to his feet and bowed. "Thank you for your advice."

"Any time, Michael. Ryland. Sorry." Taric grinned. "You'll get in. Don't worry."

Ryland sighed. Images of Katarina filled his mind. He hoped the other Champions couldn't see them. "I'll try my best."

Ezreal was thinking about Ryland. Not in any emotional capacity - he just wished his Support wasn't so useless.

"Thresh!" he shouted. "Stop bringing Blitzcrank closer to me!"

The otherworldly creature grinned at Ezreal and laughed into his face. The hot stink of blood filled Ezreal's nostrils and he wished vainly that Ryland were here to support him. At least he smelled better.

His ears caught a soft chuckle issuing from Miss Fortune in the bush opposite him, followed by a louder one from Blitzcrank.

Fuming, he called, "I'm glad everyone's having fun except me!"

He yipped in surprise as Blitzcrank's Rocket Grab snagged the corner of his sweatshirt. Thinking fast, he Arcane Shifted away.

Miss Fortune - god, she was fast - strode over to him and got so close her red hair brushed him. She pointed the ends of her rickety guns at his face. "Say your prayers, pretty boy."

He fired a Trueshot Barrage, but the quickdraw was already far away. Blitzcrank rushed towards him, fist outstretched.

Before anything happened, Ezreal heard his Nexus explode and whipped around. "What? Why did they surrender?"

Miss Fortune sneered at him. "In case you haven't noticed, the score is 18 - 1."

Ezreal gaped in disbelief. 18 - 1? Neither he nor Thresh had died once. "Are you serious?"

Miss Fortune smiled, batting her long eyelashes. "Not even someone as pretty as you can carry morons."

"Stop calling me pretty," Ezreal muttered irritably.

"Why? You are, aren't you?" The pirate trailed him as he walked off the field, his head down. "At least, I think so."

She holstered her guns and brushed the side of his cheek.

Ezreal grabbed her wrist and squeezed it, gritting his teeth. He felt the magic sparkling in his veins and yearned to set the air around him on fire. His blue eyes were aflame with anger.

Miss Fortune withdrew, looking offended. "Not in a good mood, are we?"

"It's the last game of the day, I get matched with a bunch of imbeciles, and all the carries do is tease me. No, I'm not in the best of moods."

"I wasn't teasing you, I promise."

"Why else would you call me pretty?" Ezreal spat into the grass.

"Is that not an acceptable compliment?" Miss Fortune put her hands on her hips. "I'd love it if someone called me pretty."

"I'm a guy."

Miss Fortune threw her hands in the air. "Does that mean you're not pretty? You need to loosen up, kid."

The last word – _kid_ – was what made his anger boil over.

"No!" Ezreal shouted. Sweat streamed down his face, and he was dimly aware of the other champions gathering around him. "The carries need to quit being awful! If we weren't on the Rift, I'd have killed every single one of you. You hear me? Every single one!"

He felt the anger surging through him, a white-hot torrent carrying away his common sense like a branch in a whirling river. But he couldn't stop himself.

"Graves' manliness wouldn't mean a _damn_ thing after I Trueshot his head off!" He stepped towards Miss Fortune. The blue indicator on his gauntlet filled with brilliant light, throwing the warpaint on his cheeks into brilliant relief. He aimed his glove squarely at Miss Fortune's head with a silent snarl. The redhead cringed against Blitzcrank, face white with fear.

Malzahar and Teemo moved in front of her, faces unreadable. They were followed by Nautilus and Master Yi.

"You," Master Yi said quietly, "need to calm down. Quickly. Before people get hurt."

Sweat streamed into Ezreal's eyes. Where was this anger coming from? Sure, he'd been mad before, but never saturated with fury the way he was now.

"For the record, I still think he's pretty," Miss Fortune murmured. "Where I come from, that's even better than being handsome."

"It's not your fault," Yi responded from the corner of his mouth. Even helmeted, Ezreal could tell that his eyes weren't leaving him. "The boy's not stable."

Ezreal lowered his glove, panting harshly. Without another backward look, he hurried away, leaving a cluster of Champions and wide-eyed Summoners in his wake.

He stopped at last in front of the Supports Quarters, heart hammering in his throat. Anger ate at his mind, infecting his muscles with white-hot lava.

A small novice swaddled in blue robes threw a letter at him and scurried away.

Ezreal didn't even notice, his blue eyes fixed on the sky, shivering as the gentle breeze cooled the sweat on his skin.

_Being around people is the problem_, he decided. _It's overstimulating. I've been alone for so long that being forced to interact with people all the time is freaking me out._

Alone in caves and jungles and forests. There had been stretches of time where he'd forgotten the sound of his voice. Forgotten himself in the darkness of a subterranean kingdom. Beneath dense leaves. Camping, fishing, hunting. But most of all - exploring.

_What makes you happy?_

_ Exploring, sir._

_ Then do it._

_I can't stay here_, he decided. _I've got to go, for my safety and the safety of others._

Then Ryland burst out of the Supports' Quarters, running towards him.


	18. The Balance (Part 2)

Ryland skidded to a halt in front of Ezreal. His aura jetted out of him, smashing against Ezreal's. Tides of white beat back a roiling mass of red and black.

Ryland knelt in front of him. "What's wrong?" he whispered.

Ez's teeth chattered. His anger deserting him left him empty and cold. "Too many people."

Nodding, Ryland got to his feet. "I was wondering when it would affect you at last. You're not used to being in the spotlight."

Ezreal's frigid breath coursed out of him. "I'm not used to being with people at all, or doing a steady job, or anything. What do I do?" Ez grabbed Ryland's shirt. "Soraka said there was a way to stop being summoned. Can you find it for me?"

Ryland shivered. He was torn between wanting to fulfill Ezreal's wishes, and keeping him here at the League. "The Supports will never tell me," he said at last, hoping it was true. "They're sworn to upholding the Institute of Justice."

Ezreal relaxed the grip on Ryland's shirt and collapsed on the side of the fountain. "I wish..."

"You wish what?"

"Life was easier."

Lux and Katarina walked through the Institute of Justice in silence. They encountered a group of champions talking in excited and agitated whispers beneath a large oak tree.

"Did you see that? He nearly killed me!" Miss Fortune exclaimed. Lux slowed to a halt to listen.

Nasus thumped the ground with his staff. "As a member of this Institution, Ezreal has a responsibility to keep his power in check." The champions around him bobbed their heads in agreement.

"Oh no," Lux moaned. Kat's eyebrows shot up.

Yi sighed. "It is a pity all that power is going to waste because he can't control his emotions."

Katarina pushed through the group. "Excuse me. What are you talking about?"

Miss Fortune's eyes widened. "Ezreal, the Deadly Explorer. I called him pretty, which is a compliment where I come from, and he - he -"

"Became very angry," finished Malzahar, who was floating beside her. His blue eyes gleamed eerily, and his scarf fluttered in the slight spring breeze. "I've never felt such anger. Such unbridled power, either."

"Especially not from someone that young," added Warwick, who was casually plucking fleas from his fur.

"It's true that anger builds up with the ages," Nasus agreed.

"He didn't actually hurt you, did he?" Lux examined Miss Fortune and found no wounds.

"No, but he certainly intended to," Yi said, sheathing his blade. "It's not safe to keep him around."

"But - but we can't make Ezreal leave." Lux shook her head helplessly, searching for Katarina's gaze. "Can we?"

"Absolutely not. He's a crucial part of this Institute," Katarina said.

Miss Fortune laughed. "Tell me that when he has his gauntlet aimed at your face, and we'll see how you feel."

"If you were just nicer to him -" Lux huffed and began again. "The only reason he's so upset is because the carries treat him badly."

"Who does? Ashe, Graves and Caitlyn's little circlejerk?" Miss Fortune spat on the ground. "Who cares?"

"Ezreal does."

"Why?" Miss Fortune's eyes narrowed. "Is he sad because he has a crush on Ashe? Or because Graves won't drink beer with him?"

"Has he even given the rest of the champions a chance?" Yi asked, leaning forward. "He's made no attempt to talk to me. I'd love to duel him, or teach him how to handle a sword."

"Or me," Nasus added. "I'd rather like to explore his knowledge of artifacts. He's written two of my favorite books."

Lux blinked. "I - I didn't realize other champions were interested in him."

"Very much so," Nasus growled. "Feel free to let him know. If my friendship will aid him in any way, he is welcome to it."

"I concur." Warwick stretched his hunched back, his ears flattening. "I'm sure many of us besides the carries feel the same way."

"He's a good child, I feel," added Master Yi. "Just young and emotional. Many people are at that age."

Miss Fortune hesitated. "I suppose I'd like to get to know him better, too. I know he probably doesn't count me as a carry to look up to." Her sultry red lips

formed a pout. "But I'd love to get him coffee. I meant it when I said he was pretty."

_I'll probably leave you out of this_, Lux thought. "Thank you," she said aloud. She and Katarina bowed and walked away, leaving them to discuss Ezreal more.

"What's up with that kid anyways, Lux?"

"He's socially awkward." Lux sighed and closed her eyes. _Socially awkward_ was an understatement for almost killing someone. "He's wonderful - just - he's never had friends. He's always been alone."

"Where are his parents?" Katarina wondered. "Or better yet - who?"

Lux shook her head again, mystified. "He's never mentioned them. Come to think of it, he's never mentioned a last name either."

Katrina huffed. "What that usually means in Noxus is that his parents are dead, or they belong to an alliance he doesn't like."

"Ezreal isn't allied with anyone, so I doubt it's the latter." Lux's heart caught in her throat. "Oh, Katarina. What if they are dead?"

"That would explain some things, wouldn't it?" Katarina nodded to Swain as they passed him.

"That's why he always seems so alone."

They encountered Zandred and another Summoner nearer to the Noxian Quarters. A tiny coil of nervousness squeezed the base of Lux's spine as she remembered that Katarina was a marked woman. "Do you feel anything?" she whispered to Kat.

Kat, keeping her face neutral, shook her head. Zandred hailed them. "Good afternoon, ladies." Seeing Lux's knapsack, he added, "Going somewhere?"

"I'm staying with Katarina for a few days. Girly gossip time." She put on her best smile.

Zandred looked impressed. "Well, even our Demacian Generals require a break from action at times."

"Summoners don't." Kat pointed in the direction they'd come from. "Ezreal apparently almost killed someone today."

Zandred became very still. "Is that a joke?"

"No, unfortunately." Lux bit her lip. "If you see him, tell him I'm in the Noxian Quarters, will you?"

Zandred nodded distractedly. "Oh, Erinae. Give them the invitations."

The smaller Summoner handed her and Kat slips of paper, imploring them to meet at Central Fountain. Lux's stomach rumbled. "That sounds fantastic."

"Good. I hope to see you there. Now, if you'll excuse me." Zandred strode off towards the growing cluster of champions, purple robes swirling behind him, followed by his clambering apprentice.

Kat had a tiny extra bedroom directly off the side of hers. "What is this for?"

"Sometimes my sister likes to stay with me," Kat said. "And sometimes she likes to...entertain...guests."

Lux wrinkled her nose, examining the sheets. They were spotless. "Is everything always about sex with Noxians?"

"Is it not everything with Demacians? That's the more surprising thing."

"There's more to life than intercourse," Lux began.

Kat put a finger to Lux's lips. "Save it. I'm all for mushy romance, but having that without physical relief would kill me."

"Mushy romance? Are you saying genuine affection is mushy?"

Katarina rolled her eyes. "Do you think an assassin has time for that? We don't get many opportunities to snuggle."

"You should try it. It's fun."

"Not as fun as something else I know..."

Lux hung her clothes up in the spare closet with a wistful smile. "Doesn't it get tiring, though?"

"Sometimes. But sometimes that's the point."

"Well, at least you've made your intentions with Ryland abundantly clear."

Katarina snickered. "He's a virgin."

"He's a dweeb."

"A cute dweeb," Kat added. "A sexy dweeb."

"Isn't that an oxymoron?" Lux chuckled. Girly gossip time was proving to be quite hilarious. "He's so..."

"Tall, dark and handsome?" A sultry smile curved Katarina's lips.

"Skinny and stringy."

"Ezreal's almost shorter than you," Kat retorted.

"But he's got some muscle!" Lux exclaimed, hitting her with a pillow.

They were stopped by Darius' imposing figure entering the room, casting a long shadow over them. He arched one black eyebrow. "Katarina, are you aware that Ezreal almost killed someone?"

Kat sighed, exasperated. "Who isn't aware of it? I swear, this Institute's grapevine is a mile long."

"I was only asking because..." he glanced at Lux. "Do you mind stepping out of the room?"

"You can talk in front of her." Katarina met his dark eyes. "We can trust her."

A frown knitted Darius' face. "We can trust a top Demacian General with tactical Noxian decisions? Interesting."

"She's not allied with us," Kat said hurriedly. "But she is allied with Ezreal."

Darius shrugged. "Fantastic. I was going to say that Swain wants Ezreal allied with us, in light of the assassination plot."

"I agree with you," Lux murmured. "The Noxians are trying to uphold the Institute and the Demacians aren't. I think Ezreal should be on the Institute's side."

Darius nodded, impressed. "I suppose you might mention that to him?"

"I shall."

Darius nodded curtly, then exited the room with a swirl of his cape.

"In between fucking his brains out, you mean." Kat snickered. Lux hit her with the pillow again.

"Stop that!"

"I'm just saying! All those magazine articles about him! It's pretty obvious what your intentions are."

"We'll see."

Ez was lying next to Ryland, staring blankly at the ceiling, when a small knock sounded at their door.

Ryland ceased playing his calming incantations on his clarinet and went to open it.

Ezreal sighed deeply when he heard the visitor's voice. Zandred. Of course.

"May I come in?"

"I'm not sure that's a good idea right now..."

"I would like to speak to Ezreal."

"I'm well aware of that," Ryland snapped.

"Michael - or Ryland. Please don't make me use my rank to get through that door." The Summoner's voice was clipped, revealing the depth of his distress. Even Ezreal, with only slight emotional powers, could sense his frustration and fear. It boiled off of him in reeking waves.

"Have you heard any talk about letting me into the League?"

"No," Zandred said tightly. "Now let me in!" The Summoner pushed past Ryland and stood over Ezreal. Concern welled in his violet eyes. "Ezreal? Hello?"

Ez sat up with a grimace. "Hey, Zandred. What's up?"

Zandred took a seat. "I'm worried about you."

"So isn't everyone else." Ezreal yawned, exposing his cat-like canines. "Or if not worried, afraid. Or something."

Zandred massaged his temples. "What can I do for you? I know you aren't happy here..."

Ezreal shook his head sadly. "I don't know. The carries - I guess I let it bother me too much."

Zandred touched Ezreal's forearm. "I know relations with the carries are strained, but I've talked to other champions."

"And?"

"Master Yi, Miss Fortune, Nasus, Malzahar, Warwick, and quite a few others are interested in communicating with you."

Ezreal groaned. Zandred's eyes widened. That wasn't the reaction he was expecting.

Ryland cleared his throat. "Ezreal needs to become acclimated to communicating with people on a near-constant basis."

"Excuse me?"

"He - he's been alone for a long time. All this -" Ryland gestured at the building around him. "- it's getting to him."

"Oh. Well." Zandred frowned. "If that's the case...Will you be joining us for dinner, Ezreal?"

"Of course." The Explorer smiled weakly. "I feel better already."

"In that case, it might interest you to know that Lux is in the Noxian Quarters. I'll take my leave now." He patted Ezreal on the head and bustled away to inform Merilyn and Darrigan of the latest development.

"He's such a busy guy," Ryland said.

"True. Noxian Quarters?" Ezreal forced himself to his feet. "Lux must be in trouble. Or have news."

"Even if not, it'll be nice to see her, won't it?" Ryland smiled even though his chest throbbed painfully. Luxanna. Lux.

_Stick with Katarina_...

_I should just kill Lux myself_...

"Ryland?" Ezreal's wide blue eyes were fearful. His blonde hair was ruffled, and his deep white v-neck exposed the beginning of his tan chest. Beautiful. "What were you thinking just now?"

"Nothing. Come on - let's go."

_Life is all about balance. That is why _Wuju Style_ emphasizes embracing both part of the light and part of the dark. Any person who claims to stand for one thing entirely has not examined their life; any person who denies either the influence of the light or the dark cannot be of this world. Day and night touch the earth both. Too much daylight tires the eye - only with the night can rest be brought. Too much night tires the eye - only with day can wakefulness be brought. _

- The Incantations of the Supports, Karma of Ionia.

"This is going to upset the Demacian troops," Lux said primly.

"If your troops get upset over nail polish, something's wrong." Katarina bent over Lux's hands, applying the last touches of blood-red paint to her nails. "Sexy."

"It goes better with your hair. Blonde and red is a weird combination."

"I think you'll find that guys don't notice." Katarina cocked her head. "Ryland and Ezreal are here."

"How do you know that? Life would be so much easier if I could sense people."

Katarina grinned. "Can you not hear that oaf Darius talking to them?"

"Can Ryland not sense that Darius is his father?"

"He'd be able to, but Darius keeps that fact hidden from him. Come on."

Lux spared a glance into Katarina's bedside mirror, finger-combing her hair.

Darius loomed over Ryland and Ezreal, gesturing grandly. Lux could see the family resemblance if she looked for it - the high cheekbones, the lustrous black hair. Other than that, though - Darius was massive, bulky. Ryland was thin and graceful and very pale. Ryland must look more like Darius' mother than Darius himself.

Ezreal broke eye contact with Darius when he saw Lux, and some of the light came back into his blue eyes. A smile broke through the clouds on his face.

Lux answered it, forgetting she was in the Noxian Quarters among strange people.

Darius, sensing the abrupt break in attention, turned towards them. "Ah, here's our guest now. The Lady of Luminosity." Darius bowed. Lux curtsied as well as she could in jeans.

Darius returned his attention to his son, expounding on the greatness of Noxus. Ryland smiled, bemused.

Ezreal rushed towards her. "Lux. What are you doing here?" His voice was low and urgent.

"Kat said it'd be safer for me to be here. She can protect me. Are you okay? Miss Fortune is telling everyone you nearly killed her."

"I -" Ez paused. Lux trailed her fingers softly down his cheek, coming to rest on his collarbone. "I almost went berserk. The people here, Lux. I'm not used to it."

"You poor thing. I guess I prepared for it in the military." She looked to Katarina, who was leaning against Ryland. Every now and then, she pressed her red lips to Ryland's ear and whispered something. The poor boy was turning a brilliant hue of crimson. "Come with me. I'll show you where I'm staying."

She pulled Ezreal past Draven's questioning look without a word, hurried into her sideroom and shut the door.

Before she could say anything, he met her lips with his, pressing her against the wall with his body. His hands ran through her hair.

Even with her dim empathy, Lux could feel the depth of anger residing in Ezreal. It formed in his body like a massive thunderstorm, deep and dark and shot through with azure lightning. She met his anger with soft caresses, her hands sliding over his skin, down his chest and stomach. Gold and blue magic danced through her veins.

She at last broke their kiss, pulling a deep breath into her lungs.

"Are you okay? Did I hurt you?" The concern in his eyes made her heart ache.

"I'm fine. I'm just not used to extended romantic engages." She blinked. "That sounded a little general-esque. I apologize."

He brushed aside a lock of her hair. "It sounds like you. I like that. You're genuine. Not like everyone else." His lips slid down her pale neck, ending with a tiny nip at her breastbone. Lux gasped.

"Sorry."

"No, no. It's fine." _God, I'm making this so awkward. Lux, shut up_, she commanded herself. It was hard not to sound awkward. Alone with her idol, her biggest crush. "I feel like I'm dreaming," she murmured.

"Tell me if you want me to stop." He nibbled her ear lobe and kissed her jawbone, sending a wave of physical desire down Lux's spine. "And try to relax. You can give in to me."

Her muscles were stiff. She realized she was standing at parade rest. With another shuddering breath, she relaxed against him, nuzzling him and inhaling deeply the scent of his skin. She kissed him urgently, her tongue meeting his. _He tastes so sweet_...

She moaned and felt Ezreal freeze. "What's wrong?" she panted.

"Are you alright?"

"Yes."

"Oh." Holding her tightly, they moved towards the bed.

His fingers were shaking as he tugged at her blouse. Lux felt a small catch of fear in her throat and thought_, Even if I didn't want to do it, he'd probably have sex with me anyways._ The idea that Ezreal desired her so much pleased her. She helped him remove her shirt, revealing her tiny white bra.

"They're not the biggest things in the world," she said with a blush. _Oh, God. I'm so stupid_.

Ezreal lifted her chin, meeting her eyes. "You're beautiful."

That simple statement struck her dumb. He tore her bra off and lowered his mouth to her breasts. Her back arched and she stifled another sigh of pleasure. "So beautiful," he murmured against her chest. His fingers slid down her belly.

Lux's muscles contracted. Feeling her tense up, he stopped. A flush of shame rose to his cheeks, the dark desire in his eyes ebbing away. "We don't have to do this right now," he murmured. "I'm sorry for pressuring you."

Lux couldn't say anything. She felt torn in two - desire overwhelming one part, and fear stifling the other. At last she said, "No need to apologize."

Ezreal snuggled against her. In her head, she heard Katarina saying, "We don't have time for that gushy stuff." _Curse the Demacian Legion's non-affection policy_, she thought dimly. _Katarina would have fucked him by now. _

"I didn't say I didn't want to."

"But your body did." She felt Ezreal smile against her side. "It's okay. I should probably get to know you better first. We have that meeting with Zandred, anyways."

Lux stifled her desire and moved to put her shirt back on. Ezreal watched her intently.

"Next time, you take your shirt off first. Pants, too," Lux commanded. She wondered if she sounded convincing.

_I need Katarina to give me tips. _

"I think I hear Lux and pretty boy getting it on in there." Katarina leaned against her bedroom wall, surveying Ryland. She was surprised when his eyes went dark and flat.

"I can feel it."

"You need to tone your empath powers down a little bit. Invading privacy isn't cool." She stroked his jaw, marveling at his wintry complexion and dark hair. "What, are you in the mood for romance? Gushy stuff?"

Ryland snorted. "What makes you think I want to romance you?"

"Oh, I don't know." She leaned into his chest. He remained cold, distant. "Ok, seriously. What's wrong?"

Ryland hesitated. "Lux isn't right for Ezreal."

Katarina smacked her forehead. "I didn't know you liked Lux, too. Can't a redhead get some love?"

Ryland shifted his weight uncomfortably. "Not Lux..."

"I always get the gay ones." Kat rolled her eyes. "Listen up. You can't do anything -"

"But I could. I could influence Ezreal to love someone else." Ryland sighed. "It's just-"

"Shut up." Kat kissed him, hard, her tongue invading his mouth. She wrapped her arms around his chest - she was much shorter than him.

Ryland responded, dispassionately at first, then more intensely. Kat's body warmed his, her ruby lips and hair almost sizzling over his skin. Still, his caresses were inattentive. Even as distracted as she was, Katarina could tell Ryland's mind was elsewhere. Probably in the room next to them.

Irritation welled up in her.

She broke the embrace. "I know you don't want to fuck right now -"

"I'm a virgin," Ryland reminded her.

"I know that." Katarina huffed. "I intend to fix that."

Ryland looked pained. "Katarina. I don't know if I - like you like that."

"Fun fact, virgin-boy. Noxians like to have sex." Katarina pouted. Being refused always put her in a sour mood.

"But -"

"If you're going to wear the name Ryland, you have to live up to it. And that means legendary sex." Katarina stormed away from him and returned with a book from under her mattress. Ryland took it cautiously, as if it would bite.

_The Many Bedroom Adventures of Ryland the Great_. On the cover was a graphic depiction of Ryland engaging in unsavory activities with two maidens at once. Ryland bit back a laugh.

"But Katarina...I'm not that Ryland."

Katarina threw her hands up. "Kid, I haven't had good sex in about six months. Do you know how desperate I am right now?"

Seeing the frustration on her face (and feeling it through her aura), Ryland had a pretty good idea. "Kat - I -"

Kat threw herself on her mattress, still pouting. Who'd have thought a Demacian General would get more action than me?

"Never mind. We'll finish this later. We have to meet with Baldy McPurpleEyes."

"You mean Zandred?" Ryland laughed. "Baldy? You are really angry, aren't you?" He sat next to Katarina. After a moment, he began stroking her back.

"I guess you'd know all about wanting someone you can't have," she muttered.

"That's harsh. Why do you want me so bad anyways?"

"Because you're attractive and a nice guy."

"I thought it's because you feed on the virginities of young men. Explains your youthful appearance."

Katarina rolled away from him, eyes blazing. "Everything's all fun and games until your slut of a mother and dunce of a father murder someone in the Institute. Do you know what happens then, Ryland?"

Ryland recoiled. "No."

"You get conscripted into Noxian service or executed by the Demacians."

"Oh." He paused. "I don't see what this has to do with you having sex with me."

Katarina muttered something in a Noxian dialect. She stood up and hammered on the door to the side bedroom. "You guys ready to leave?"

"You just wanted to interrupt their tryst. That's not very nice."

"Shut up, Michael," she growled.

He noted the use of his Demacian name and sighed. "They weren't kidding when they said you Noxians are passionate."

"You are Noxian, you dweeb."

"Really? Then who's my father?"

"You're telling me you're so dense you can't even figure that out? Maybe it is Darrigan. Only a fool like him could bear a fool like you."

"Katarina." He caught her arm and squeezed it gently. "I'm sorry. I am. I think you're attractive. I do. I'll - I'll have sex with you later. I'll probably be bad at it."

The assassin sniffed and tossed her red hair. "Not for long, you won't be."

"Just tell me. Who's my father? I want to know."

"And I wanted to fuck you. Can't always get what you want, can you?" The anger was slowly draining from Katarina's face. "Sorry. Um." She pressed her fingers to her eyes. "Are you sure you want to know?"

"I am."

She inhaled, opening her mouth.


	19. The Balance (Part 3)

_Think of life like a coursing river. There are often particles within its currents – branches, rocks, stones. Life itself, like the river, tosses those things around, mixing them up. To some extent a river is unpredictable, as is life. _

- The Incantations of the Supports, Taric

* * *

"Get down!" Katarina shouted. She snatched a pillow from her bed and held it in front of her.

Ryland stared at her blankly. Then he felt a dagger whizz by his cheek, drawing a tiny bead of blood, and hit the floor. More blades flew past him and Katarina, visible only as streaks of silver beneath the lights.

_There's nothing I can do_, he thought helplessly. _I'm not trained for this_!

He saw Katarina's lips form an unconscious snarl. She answered the assault with knives of her own. Soon the room was full of strafing blades, quicksilver flashes as deadly as an Icathian rattlesnake.

Katarina moved like a dancer, dodging and weaving and leaping to avoid the points, all the while cultivating an impressive silver storm, blades flying from her like raindrops from a thundercloud.

But a blade caught her shoulder at last. Ryland saw it happen – a knife with a black hilt drove itself all the way into her right shoulder, leaving only the hilt exposed. She screamed in mingled outrage and pain as red blood welled from the wound, streaming down her pale skin.

Ryland leapt to his feet, oblivious to the continuing onslaught. _They're not going to kill her! I won't let them! _

He had no Ionian clarinet to channel his power through. Desperately, he tapped into his rage and fear, forming a black bubble of energy around them. The knives began to bounce off of it, leaving him and Kat unharmed.

"Kat! Get to the other room!"

Her eyes were dulled with pain and shock. Ryland bit back a curse. He hefted her slim form into his arms. Keeping the shield up, he ran to the side-door and opened it at the same time Ezreal did. The Explorer blocked his way, fear illuminating his face.

"Let me in! She's hurt!"

Lux gasped when she saw Katarina's wound. He passed the assassin to Ezreal, then turned to see if he could glimpse the assailant. He caught nothing but an impression of robes, two shadowy figures. Even as he watched, they vanished into the growing gloom.

Darius appeared seconds later, his face smoking with hatred and anger. His cloak flapped behind him like a sail. "What is the meaning of this?" he roared, grabbing Ryland by the shoulders and lifting him into the air.

Ryland squirmed and reached deep into his emotional powers to project a calming aura. Darius deflected it casually, his rage snuffing the aura's light in an instant.

Swallowing hard, Ryland said, "Sir, there was an attack. An attempt made on Katarina's life, I believe."

He saw an unwelcome emotion appear on Darius' face – fear. If a Noxian commander was fearful, things had taken a turn for the worse.

"Sir," Ezreal piped up. "She's hurt. Is there anything we can do?"

Darius dropped Ryland unceremoniously. Ryland staggered back a few steps, massaging the wound on his face. Tiny, compared to the one inflicted upon Katarina.

_Kat. _

Ryland turned to her. Lux had laid her out on the guest-bed and elevated her feet.

"Is she alive?" Darius demanded.

"Yes, sir," Lux responded, not dropping the honorific. There was no time to quibble about status or rank.

Fear squatted in Ryland's chest, freezing there like a block of impenetrable ice. He stood over Katarina, his muscles shaking with spent adrenaline.

Darius looked over The Hand of Noxus, his lips quivering. Katarina's chest was heaving, but her eyes were wide and blank. Her ruby lips were slightly parted. An unbidden thought rose to Ryland's mind: _Sleeping Beauty_.

Blood wept from the wound on her shoulder. Judging from the position, Ryland estimated that the blade had pierced bone, and shuddered. What if it had hit her heart?

Ryland saw Darius' eyes sparkle with something akin to tears. He turned to Ezreal. "Ezreal, you're the fastest person. Please go find help. Those blades could be poisonous."

"But how? Who do I go to?"

"Find Zandred as quickly as you can."

Ezreal nodded once, curtly, and sprinted away, leaving Ryland, Darius and Lux to stand vigil around Kat.

"Who could do this?" Lux whispered.

Darius sneered. "From what I've heard, it was the idea of the precious Demacians."

Lux closed her eyes in pain. "This isn't the Demacian way. We don't have assassins in our military."

"Well, you seem to have assassins employed now." Darius' upper lip curled in disgust. "Michael, what was she saying to you before the attack happened?"

Ryland shifted uncomfortably. Now wasn't the time to correct Darius on his name. "She was about to tell me who my father was, sir."

Darius' eyes narrowed to slits. "Explain yourself."

Ryland shifted uncomfortably. "I've been informed by Katarina that my father is Noxian. However, I don't know his identity. She was about to fill me in."

Darius passed a hand over his face. Ryland reached out with his aura slightly, tasting the mingled sadness and anger that permeated Darius' emotions. He saw Lux favor Darius with a sympathetic glance.

"Michael. You prefer Ryland now, don't you?"

"Yes, sir." Darius' tone was suspiciously gentle. Ryland braced himself for the truth. Perhaps a comrade of Darius' who had fallen in battle, long ago.

"I'm not sure this is either the time or place for this, but it might be easier to say it now than later. Especially since time appears to be very short." Darius closed his eyes. "I am your father."

Silence.

The world tilted beneath his feet. Ryland staggered back as if punched in his chest. His voice rasped. "What? How is that possible?"

"We will discuss this later," Darius muttered, looking at Katarina. "I fear this revelation comes too late in your life. I'm sorry."

Ryland lurched towards the bathroom attached to Katarina's main bedroom and vomited into the toilet, shaking. Sweat streamed into his eyes, blinding him. "Oh God," he heard himself whisper. "Ohgodohgodoh –" He retched again, then huddled on the bathroom floor, leaving Lux and Darius to stand alone.

* * *

_I'm flying_, Ezreal thought. _I feel like I'm flying_.

The magic and emotion he suppressed since arriving at the Institute crested out of his body, surrounding him in a sphere of crackling electricity. He Arcane Shifted whenever he could, skidding past Miss Fortune, leaping over Master Yi, dodging through the group of Yordles he passed. His energy singed Graves and Ashe's capes as he whizzed by them.

_Come on, Zandred, you're usually up my ass. Where are you now?_

The Prodigal Explorer spied him near the Demacian Quarters, talking with his new apprentice. Zandred's jaw dropped when Ezreal came to a halt in front of him.

Ez's body was still throwing off sparks and plasma, surrounded by the corona of a dying star. To Zandred's, the boy looked like an angel bent on vengeance.

"No magic," Zandred whispered.

"No time for that. Zandred, I need healers now."

"Did – did you kill someone?"

"It wasn't me! Katarina's hurt!"

Zandred halted his shaking with sheer force of will. "Erinae, do you know where to find healers?"

"Yes, sir. I'll fetch the Supports." Erinae fled the glowing boy, her new purple robes almost tripping her.

"Take me to Katarina." Regarding the mystical, ephemeral fire surrounding Ezreal, he said, "Any way you can tone that down?"

Ezreal took a deep breath. His temples throbbed; his muscles seized with fatigue. At last the magic around him began to bank its embers, the fiery furnace dimming to a candle-glow.

"Run with me." Zandred picked up the hem of his robes and matched Ezreal's stride. "Why were you in the Noxian Quarters?"

"Is there a problem?" Ezreal's blue eyes burned into his, his voice saturated with anger. "Is my political alliance a problem?"

_Is he truly allied with Noxus?_ Zandred's heart sank. _His power, in the hands of Jericho Swain?_

_Millions could die._

Gritting his teeth, Zandred forced himself to sound neutral. "No, no. I'm curious. Excited that you have new friends."

"I was with Katarina, Lux and Ryland. We were going to go to dinner with you soon and that's when it happened." The fury left Ezreal's voice. He suddenly sounded very childlike. Scared. "I didn't see it but Kat's badly hurt. I – I just –"

"It's quite alright to be afraid," Zandred said quietly. "Any Support will tell you that fear is a normal thing."

Ezreal didn't respond, but lowered his head and kept running. Apparently physical exertion without the use of magic wore on him more than turning into a golden will-o-the-wisp.

They came at last to the Noxian Quarters, where a group of Supports was already entering the building in a solemn line.

Darius stood on the balcony, watching the setting sun intently.

"Darius." Zandred hesitated. He'd never spoken directly to the commander before. "Please tell whoever else shows up that this building is off-limits. Summoners, champions, everyone."

Darius regarded him dispassionately, then nodded once. "Does that include the Venerable Summoners as well?"

Zandred thought furiously. _If only everything would slow down for a few moments, so I could think!_ "Yes. There's no reason for them to appear. We might also be in danger."

"I believe the danger has passed for now, but you are right to be cautious." The commander bowed his head.

"Is anyone else hurt?"

"No. Lux and Ryland are very frightened, however."

What was Lux doing here? Oh, the furlough. Right. Zandred shook his head, feeling dizzy. He wasn't a young man, and running here had cost him. "Thank you for your cooperation."

"You're most welcome," Darius said, smiling ruefully.

* * *

Ezreal's heart thrashed his throat and chest. He could see the fabric of his shirt ripple with its every beat. He, Lux and the Supports stood in a circle around the mattress, gazing at Katarina.

Already she seemed to be recovering consciousness. That was good. Still, she was paler than usual, if that was possible. Sweat matted her hair to her face.

"Why are you all looking at me?" she growled.

"You're very pretty," Soraka said gently, placing a soothing violet hand on Katarina's forehead. "You should rest now."

"That's a good idea," Taric echoed. His blue eyes gleamed even in the dim light. He, Sona and Soraka were still wearing their white meditation robes. Ezreal thought they looked like ghosts. "Rest," he repeated.

"I feel…hot…" Katarina whispered. Karma reached into the white bag she'd brought, pulling out a crystal vial of water. She passed it to Soraka, who placed the lip of the vial to Katarina's mouth.

"Rest," said Nami. Her eyes sparkled with unshed tears. "Please."

Lulu clutched at Nami's hand and squeezed it. She, too, looked to be on the verge of sobs. Ezreal's heart snagged on a thorn. Lulu was always so cheerful…to see her sad shocked him.

Katarina slurped the water. Her eyes fluttered closed. Instead of raspy, rough breaths, her chest began to move more slowly.

Taric turned to the other Supports. "It's acceptable to be upset at a time like this," he murmured. "It is best to acknowledge those emotions, know you have them, but rein them in."

Nami gulped for air and sobbed once. Lulu and Karma moved to comfort her, forming a tight-knit group of soothing auras.

Ezreal envied them. He stood opposite them, alone with his thoughts and feelings. Lux appeared transfixed by Katarina's sleeping body. He thought it best not to disturb her.

_Ezreal_, Sona called. _Where is Ryland_?

Ez looked around. _No idea_. "Lux, where did Ryland go?"

Lux stirred. "I think he's in the bathroom."

Ezreal moved through the side door, into the main bedroom. He stepped over the shining blades. Their reflections of light bounced around, spackling the walls with points of silver.

Katarina's had black and red hilts. The other knives, which outnumbered hers, had no distinguishing markings.

Katarina's assassinations were meant to be statements. Her blades shouted _Katarina was here_. Whoever had been hired to assassinate her intended to leave no trace…

The door to the bathroom was open. Ryland sat against a wall, head bent, arms folded.

"Ryland? Are you okay?" Ezreal's knees popped as he knelt beside him. "Are you hurt?"

Ryland looked up at him, gray-green eyes flickering. "Nothing is okay. Merilyn wants to bring this Institute to its knees."

"We're not going to let her."

"Why not? You hate this place."

"I love people who love it, though." Ezreal sat down beside him. "Man, this is a great view of a toilet."

Ryland laughed bitterly. "Is Kat dead?"

"She got hit in the shoulder. I don't think so."

"The blades could have been poisoned." Ryland brushed tears from his eyes. "I didn't have my clarinet. I could've repelled the assault."

"Ryland." Ezreal put a hand on his shoulder, searching for the right words to comfort him. Comforting didn't come easily. Hell, human contact didn't come easily. "You're not trained for this situation and Katarina is. You still saved her life."

Ryland lowered his head. "I should've taken the blade for her."

"You're fine." Ezreal hesitated, then hugged Ryland. It was an awkward embrace, given that both of them were sitting, and Ryland was half a foot taller than him.

Ryland blushed. "You don't have to do that."

"If it's the only thing that makes you feel better –"

"I'm fine."

"Says the guy hiding out in the bathroom." Ezreal smiled, then yawned. "This has been a really, really long day."

"To top it all off, my dad is Darius."

"What?"

Ryland's smile was weak and tired. "Darius. The Noxian commander."

Ezreal blinked hard, rubbing his eyes. His blonde hair flopped into his face, and he huffed at his bangs. "Oh, man. What a long day."

"You aren't going to comment on it?" Ryland's voice held a note of irritation.

Ezreal rested his hand on Ryland's shoulder, squeezing it. "I've told you before. You're still the same guy to me. My roommate. The guy who I can't wait to be in the League so I can have you support me instead of stupid Thresh." Ezreal leaned back against the wall, cracking his back. "I'm sorry if it upsets you, but to me personally, parents don't matter."

Ryland almost asked, _What happened to yours, anyways?_ But as the Explorer's eyes closed, and as he rested his head against Ryland's shoulder, Ryland thought better of it. Ezreal was right. This day was too long already.

* * *

Zandred pushed into Katarina's side-room, feeling pressure mount. How was he going to explain this to Merilyn and Darrigan? What did one say?

_Oh, I'm sorry. One of your most popular assassins nearly got the business end of the blade. No sir, no ma'am, I don't know who did it. In fact, there are absolutely no suspects at all._

_Yes, Noxus has determined that they are withdrawing from the Institute. I suppose you're right, Merilyn. We will be back at war, won't we? We might as well shut this place down. _

_Your son? He goes by the name of a popular Noxian figure from literature. I'm assuming he won't be siding with us._

_One more thing. Ezreal? You know, the champion whose powers are out of control and are growing exponentially? He's decided to ally himself with Noxus. I suppose Demacia will be destroyed, won't it? _

Zandred laughed wildly, shattering the fragile silence around Katarina's body.

Taric looked at him sternly. "This is not the appropriate time to laugh, Summoner."

"I'm – I'm sorry. It's my reaction to stress."

"We are about to remove the blade from Katarina." Soraka's smile was sad. "If you are averse to blood, I suggest you leave, Zandred."

"I have to be here," he heard himself say. "It's my duty."

"Very well, then." Soraka shrugged. So saying, she gripped the hilt of the blade and, with one swift motion, slid it from Kat's shoulder. Everyone heard it grind against bone. Blood bubbled from the hole in her otherwise perfect skin.

Zandred felt his bile rise, turning his stomach into a vat of green acid. "Is she going to be alright?" he managed to ask.

"She'll never feel safe here again." Darius. Zandred whirled as the commander entered the room once more. "You have no idea how damaging to the psyche it is for an assassin to be attacked. Especially not in a place where she was guaranteed safety. She's probably only just let her guard down." Darius grimaced. "Perfect peace at this place, my ass."

Zandred struggled to say something, but his mind had gone blank. The commander was right…the Noxians had only agreed to join the Institute because safety was assured.

At last, he said, "We are not sure who committed this atrocity, but we are determined to bring them to justice."

Darius, Lux and the Supports' eyes were all on him. He bowed deeply. "I'm going to locate the other witness to this event and find out what I can. Then I intend to question Ezreal and Lux. I will report back to Darius and Swain when I can."

Soraka nodded absently, focused now on Katarina's wounds. Karma rushed to stem the flow of blood. The white cloth was already turning red from Kat's blood.


	20. Twin Shadows

_N.B. Hello, readers! If you wish to add me on League of Legends, my Summoner name is vOceanic. I'm always up for an ARAM or two! As always, thanks for reading. Any and all reviews are welcome. Enjoy!_

* * *

Merilyn sat in her bedroom, resting her forehead on her hands. Darrigan was in their living room, remonstrating with fearful Summoners.

Though Darrigan tried his best to sound unafraid, she heard a quaking note in his usually thunderous voice.

"Did you complete the assignment?" she asked the gloom lurking in the corners of her room. The two almost-invisible figures shook their heads. No.

As she watched, one of the shadows dissolved, vanishing in a puff of smoke.

"And why not?" She let her irritation show. "I was assured of your success."

"M'lady," the shadow said kindly. "They don't call Katarina the Hand of Noxus for no reason. She's quite adept. Furthermore, it seems she was expecting this attack."

Merilyn's eyes narrowed. "What do you mean?"

"Even for a top assassin, her instincts were slightly too - quick. There was also another factor in my failure. Another person."

"Whom?"

"Your son."

Merilyn leaned back against her dark-wood headboard. Michael. Wasn't he calling himself some ridiculous Noxian name now? Roland? Ryan?

"How did my son factor in your failure?"

"He sheltered Katarina with his own power."

"I see." She rubbed her eyes, feeling tired. The Noxian assassin wasn't dead, but based on the escalating volume of her husband's voice, the Institute might be soon. Other lead Summoners could be heard storming through their home's door demanding to know _what is the meaning of this_? "Was she injured, at least?"

The shadow cocked its head. "I believe so, m'lady."

"I'll pay you, then." Merilyn reached for her purse. The shadow stopped her by touching her wrist. She steeled herself, trying not to flinch, but its touch was freezing cold.

"No need. I didn't fulfill the contract."

"Do you still intend to?"

The shadow listened to Darrigan's blustering for a moment. Though she couldn't see its features, she detected an air of satisfaction. Contentment with the chaos sown.

"Of course. I always complete my missions."

* * *

Zandred burst into the bathroom.

Ezreal was leaning against Ryland's shoulder, snoring with his mouth open. His breath came and went in little sighs. Ryland stared blankly ahead, arm wrapped protectively around the Explorer. His gray-green eyes didn't even register Zandred's arrival. He was basking in the warmth of Ezreal's aura, reveling in its beauty.

No time.

"Ryland," Zandred snapped. "Awareness, child. Come on."

With an effort, Ryland lifted his gaze. "Hello, Zandred."

Zandred knelt before him. "You did well today, saving her."

"Not well enough. The world is swirling with sorrow and pain." Ryland closed his eyes.

"We don't have time for emotions right now!" He grabbed Ryland's shoulders and shook him, dislodging Ezreal. Instead of waking up, Ezreal slumped over, still snoring. "I need information!"

"I have none."

Zandred bit his lip, hard, to keep his temper in check. If he had hair, he'd be pulling it out. "Did you see nothing? A person? A creature?"

Ryland mumbled something.

"Speak up!" Zandred shouted. Ezreal twitched and opened his eyes blearily.

"Shadows! Two shadows. About my height." Ryland closed his eyes again, wearing a look of concentration. "One shadow was darker than the other one. They were about - about as broad as I am in the shoulders. Probably more muscular. That's all, though. I swear it."

Zandred nodded. "Ezreal, did you see anything?"

Ezreal winced. His head was throbbing. "I - no, I didn't see anything."

"Why not?"

"I was in a different room. Katarina's side-bedroom. With Lux."

Zandred's eyebrows rose. "What were you - oh."

Ezreal smile was sheepish but unapologetic. "Yeah, sorry. Oh, Ryland. Should we tell him?"

"Tell me what?" Zandred's eyes narrowed. "I need your full cooperation."

Ryland's sigh seemed to come from the very bottom of his body. "We have to, don't we?"

"Tell me what?" Zandred roared. Without thinking, he reached his hand out and slapped Ezreal twice, hard. "I don't have time for insolence!"

Ezreal recoiled, resting his fingers on the sore spot. It was already beginning to puff up. He cringed into Ryland's shoulder.

Panting, Zandred struggled to come to grips with his anger. His chest felt dead-locked, squeezed by iron chains. "Ezreal - I'm sorry."

"Maybe we shouldn't tell him," Ryland said quietly. "Let this place go." He turned to the Explorer and raised a hand imbued with healing energy to Ezreal's face. "You and I could go somewhere, far away from Noxus and Demacia. Let them fight it out."

Ezreal gazed into Ryland's face as if hypnotized. He shook himself. "Ryland - we can't. Runeterra, Valoran...we can't. Zandred, you're not going to believe us, but this is Merilyn's fault."

Zandred's back stiffened. Already the world was in flux. The Institute seemed to be quivering to its barest bones. Only he - Zandred Claren of Zuan - stood between the Institute and the vacuum of chaos, and the weight of war and peace crashed upon his shoulders.

He forced a word from his numb lips: "No."

"We heard her say it." Ryland's eyes pleaded with him. "Well, Ezreal did."

Zandred stood up. He fought with his poisonous anger, grappled with it, crushed it. At last he was again the picture of calm. He said, "You're right. I don't believe you."

"What? What do you mean? How can you not believe us?" Ezreal gaped. "I have no reason to -"

"Oh, sure you don't," Zandred snarled. "Look, Michael. Ryland. Whoever you are today. I don't know what sort of petty idea this is, but you're not going to settle not being in the League by implicating the Venerable Summoner in this."

"I -"

"Whatever problems you have with your mother are not a part of this." Zandred's voice rang with finality. "I hope for the sake of this Institute the rest of your testimony is truthful."

He whirled on his heel and marched out of the bathroom.

Ryland put his head in his hands. "Why me?"

"I don't know." Ezreal massaged the side of his face. It still ached. He groaned. "Can we not get a break?"

"We need to know if Darius will be on our side." Ryland shook his head. "If he has ties to Merilyn, he can't be trusted."

"Can you check?"

Ryland stretched his exhausted mental appendages into the air around them, reaching and reaching until he tasted Darius. He plunged his mind into the commander's, invading, extending towards Darius' heart. If Darius felt the invasion, he didn't react.

In Ryland's mind's eye, he saw the atrocities his father had committed. Villages burning beneath a red moon. Soldiers gutted and slaughtered. All of it cloaked in a venemous black-and-red pride. The Pride of the Slaughter.

_This is who sired me. He and my traitorous bitch of a mother_.

"He doesn't love her. I guess we did get a break."

* * *

"What did you see, Lux?" Zandred towered over her, pressing her back to Katarina's wall.

Lux shook her head bitterly. "Nothing, sir. Nothing at all. Listen to me." She tugged Zandred's sleeve. "Merilyn -"

"Enough." Zandred held up a palm, face contorted. "I'm unsurprised you would side with Ezreal and Ryland in this matter. Though I expected more out of a Demacian general." He looked around the room. "Then again, you are in the Noxian Quarters."

Lux's brow furrowed. "What does that mean?"

"It's a little suspicious, isn't it, Luxanna? You show up in the Noxian Quarters and suddenly the Hand of Noxus is almost fatally injured. It's quite convenient, isn't it? Removal of the Noxians would be a key victory for Demacia." He leaned into her, whispering. "You can tell me. I side with Demacia."

Lux recoiled. "No! First and foremost, I serve this Institution!"

Zandred nodded sadly. "That's what I figured you would say."

"But Merilyn -"

"Thank you for your time." Zandred was gone in a flutter of indigo robes.

Lux stomped her foot. Darius heard their exchange and winced.

She looked to him plaintively. "Darius, I had nothing to do with this."

Darius held up a palm, mimicking Zandred. "Peace, General Crownguard. I believe you."

"You do?"

Darius nodded. "Katarina trusted you. As an assassin, she didn't trust many people. Not even me. But I trust her. When you say you had nothing to do with this, I know you speak the truth."

A wave of relief swept over Lux and she nearly swooned. "Katarina told me that I'm not necessarily allied with Noxus, just with the Institute."

"I agree with that as well. If I saw you on the battlefield, I wouldn't hesitate to execute you."

"Oh." Lux stepped away from him.

Seeing the shock in her eyes, he smiled. "Well, perhaps I'd hesitate a little bit. But we're not on a battlefield, regardless."

"Not yet," Lux muttered. "We very well might be when Zandred reports to Merilyn."

"She is behind it, though, isn't she?" Darius looked thoughtful. "Unsurprising."

Lux's throat constricted. She rarely spoke to the Noxian commander, having never had reason to. His sheer bulk intimidated her, as did his aura of unshakable calm. She wondered distractedly if she projected the same authority to her own troops.

She doubted it.

"Darius? May I ask you something?"

"Of course. We side together until this crisis is over."

"You - you're Ryland's father, correct?"

"Correct. Though I believe father may be too strong a word." Darius frowned. "He's twenty, isn't he?"

"I'm not sure...his mother is Merilyn?"

"Yes." Darius sighed through his nose. "You're wondering how well I know her."

"I am. Any information is necessary."

"I know she married Darrigan because her parents wanted her to. I know she wanted to abort Michael, but her parents wouldn't let her. I know her parents were killed by a Noxian contingent, led by myself, some two years after her marriage to Darrigan."

"The raid on the Demacian capital?" Lux swallowed hard. That was the battle her idol Garamond fell in.

Darius bowed his head. "Yes, that same raid."

Lux found she had nothing to say. The irony of her political position - her growing alliance with the Noxians - struck her once again.

Darius shifted his weight, his gaze locking once again on Katarina's slumbering form. The Supports had retreated to a huddle opposite them. "Prior to her marriage, Merilyn was a Noxian supporter. She worked to promote our cause in Demacia. After her marriage to Darrigan, she had to stop her operations because, had his parents caught wind of it, she'd have been executed."

"That's how you met her."

"Correct. I met her at a Noxian campfire outside of the city limits. She'd braved her own house to sneak out through a window. I admired her sense of courage. She was due to be married to Darrigan in a month and was desperate to lose her - well, to deny him a certain part of her."

"Oh," Lux said in a tiny voice. "One night stand?"

"To some degree, yes. We had communicated via messenger prior to that." He looked away from Lux. "I still have her letters. She was different then. Darrigan destroyed the woman she was to become."

"Why would she be like this now?"

Darius gazed at something far away. Lux wondered what he saw in his memory. "Probably Ryland," he said at last. "His movement to join the League upsets her greatly."

"But why?"

"He is a remnant of me. It's bad enough that I should be wandering around her, reminding her of what could have been. To have Ryland in the League as well might put her past her breaking point. She knows she can't deny him for much longer without raising questions."

"So she's going to destroy the League?" Lux asked incredulously.

"Of course. It's the Merilyn way."

"Zandred doesn't believe us..."

"I'm not sure that will be an issue. Many champions will side with us."

"Are you sure?" Lux brushed away lingering tears. "You're Noxians."

Darius snorted. "That means nothing to people who aren't Demacian, Luxanna Crownguard. And, given that you stand beside me, perhaps nothing to Demacians either." His executioner's eyes met hers. "General Swain will probably wish to speak with you about your alliances."

"I told you - I stand for the Institution."

"He'll want to hear it from your mouth. He always does." Darius sighed as Ryland and Ezreal reappeared at the entrance of the room.

Lux rushed towards them, noticing Ez favoring his right cheek. "Oh - Ezreal. Are you hurt?"

"What is it that knights always say? 'T'is but a scratch'?" Ezreal smiled wearily.

"What happened?"

"Zandred smacked him," Ryland said. His upper lip curled in disgust. "One little knife wound and the world goes straight to Hell."

On the bed before them, Katarina stirred. The focus of the Supports immediately shifted to her. Taric rushed to her side.

"Katarina? How do you feel?" Her lips moved slowly, forming three silent syllables. Taric leaned closer, his hair brushing Katarina's nose. "She's asking for you, Ezreal."

Ezreal hurried to her side. "Kat? How can I help?" Lifting her uninjured arm, she pulled the Explorer closer, pressing her lips to his ear. Her warm breath feathered the side of his face.

"Protect Lux. I worry for her."

"Why?"

"Noxian Quarters...gossip...Ryland, too. They need protecting." Her emerald eyes were flawed with pain.

_I can't believe Katarina is trusting me to protect a Demacian General. Ryland I understand - he's a Support. But Kat thinks Lux can't hold her own... _

"Who did this?" he whispered. "Do you know?"

"Shadows."

"Shadows can't attack, Kat." Ezreal racked his brain, trying to recall a single instance he'd heard of a shadow attacking someone from his archaeological studies. Nothing.

"They did...this time," she rasped. Soraka put a hand on Ezreal's shoulder and pulled him away.

"I'm sorry, Ezreal. I know we're in need of information, but Katarina is in need of rest. She should be fine within a few hours, though. The blades weren't imbued with any negative energy or physical poisons."

"That's good news. Thank you so much for helping her."

Soraka smiled. "It's our duty. One we cherish. Right, Ryland?"

"Right." Ryland's gray-green eyes restlessly ran up and down Katarina's body. "I should've taken that one for you. I'm so sorry, Kat."

Even in pain, Katarina could summon a smile for him. "You saved me. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise." Energy spent, her eyes closed, dropping her once more into a healing slumber.

Lux pulled Ezreal close, melding her body with his, oblivious to the other people in the room. She needed to feel his physical warmth, a solid figure after the disunity. The Supports, Darius and Ryland all tried to avert their gazes from their passionate embrace.

"Makes one almost envy them," Karma muttered bitterly, thinking of Yi.

Soraka hid her rueful smile as she patted Karma on the back and resumed her healing incantation.

* * *

The Institute was in almost complete chaos.

In a small tavern outside the Institute walls, Graves slammed his fist on a table. "I knew that boy was going to be trouble. We all did, didn't we?"

Over her glass of autumn ale, Ashe nodded. "He's too strong."

"Um, hello." Miss Fortune snorted. "I'm not so worried about Ezreal's winrate right now. Even if he did almost kill me. We have bigger problems."

"I'm with her." Caitlyn filed her nails distractedly. "Someone tried to kill the Kat. That's bad news."

Graves huffed into his own beer. "Good," he said quietly.

"Malcolm Graves, I'm ashamed of you." Miss Fortune's eyes narrowed. Her cheeks were rapidly filling with color to match her auburn hair. "Regardless of who it was, I don't think it's a good thing."

Ashe leaned back. "I don't know...she's a Noxian assassin. Who knows how many people she's killed? As we say in the Avarosan tribe, 'As to all, to one.'" Beside her, Tryndamere grunted assent.

"What does that even mean?" Miss Fortune furrowed her brow.

"It means she disagrees with you, sugar." Caitlyn's smile was tight. "Though I agree with Ashe and Graves. Kat's a criminal."

Miss Fortune's mug came crashing down. The other customers at the bar were all eavesdropping. "I'm saying it doesn't matter. Who cares that she's a criminal? Any one of us could be next, couldn't we? We don't know who did what. For all we know, it could've been Twisted Fate trying to kill Kat! Graves' ass could be grass!"

"Let them come," Graves rumbled. "We'll see who's on top."

But for all his harsh bluster, Graves was afraid. So were Caitlyn, Ashe and Miss Fortune. Even Tryndamere with his brief moments of invulnerability felt deeply unsettled. He vowed to himself to protect his wife at any cost...even if their marriage was just political.

* * *

LeBlanc, Kassadin, Kog'Maw, Malzahar and Twisted Fate sat in an outdoor pavilion, watching the sunset. Every once in a while, Twisted Fate gathered up the courage to slide a hand down LeBlanc's back. _My, she's a pretty lady, and I hear there's two of her sometimes...I wonder if I should try my luck._

LeBlanc seemed to read his thoughts. "Not tonight, cowboy. There's trouble afoot."

"Deep trouble," rasped Malzahar. Kog'Maw grunted something in agreement, his everpresent green acid dribbling at his feet. "Whoever targeted Kat is probably after Noxians."

"Noxian assassins. That's me." LeBlanc sighed. "Thank God I wasn't in the Noxian Quarters when it happened. I'm a bit more fragile than Katarina."

"True. Though I heard the child Ryland saved her," Kassadin rumbled.

"Really?" That piqued LeBlanc's interest. "He's not even a champion, and I didn't think he was Noxian. What was he doing with Katarina?"

"I can imagine a few things," Twisted Fate drawled, fanning his cards in front of him. LeBlanc caught a glimpse of breasts and thighs before he shuffled them away, and chuckled.

"He seems so awkward."

"What do you mean?" The voice spoke from the shadows.

Instinctively, the champions tensed up. A yellow card appeared in TF's hand; Malzahar's hands began to glow a violent purple.

But it was only Diana, her hands raised in a nonthreatening gesture. She smiled sheepishly. "I guess I probably shouldn't surprise people for a while."

"You almost got blown to hell, little lady." Twisted Fate tipped his hat to her.

LeBlanc acknowledged her with a nod. "Anyways, as I was saying...Ryland seems really shy. And also strange. I can't pin down his motives."

"Neither can I," Malzhar agreed. "He's unreadable. Even with someone as inscrutable as Katarina, I can usually guess her thoughts."

Diana took a seat with them, gazing moodily at the setting sun. "I don't even know where to go," she confessed. "I feel unsafe sitting out here, but I know the assault was launched in her room."

"We gotta stick together," Twisted Fate said suddenly. "It doesn't matter where we go, so long as we're in a group of people we trust."

"That's the problem." LeBlanc sat up straighter. "We have to determine who we trust, who we side with."

"Side with?" Kassadin's large, horned head tilted slightly. "That's a powerful word choice."

"You're welcome in the Void section of the Supports' Quarters tonight," Malzahar intoned. "All of you. We will make suitable sleeping arrangements."

"We'll make sure to guard LeBlanc extra careful," Twisted Fate added, shuffling cards from hand to hand. He winked at her.

Similar arrangements were being made all over the Institution. In the Yordles' Quarters, Teemo planted a forest of mushrooms. The small creatures piled together in one bed. Rumble worked his way over to Tristana and clutched her hand. For once, she didn't turn him down.

The carries plus Tryndamere fortified their lobby with couches and chairs, instituting a pass code that consisted of three knocks. Jayce and Vi joined them shortly thereafter.

When a cluster of angry Summoners cornered Talon, he gave himself up for capture.

"Did you do it? Did you try to kill her?" one of them shouted into his face, drenching him with spittle.

"No, I didn't, but I understand safety protocol, and am giving myself up."

"Who else uses blades?" another Summoner called.

Talon shrugged. "There are a few." He started listing names to the waiting crowd.

The Ionians met together and meditated in Yi's small apartment. He moved aside his ancient vases and bansai trees. He laid out cushions, pillows and blankets for his guests and busied himself with making tea, trying to push the thought of Karma from his mind. _I hope she's alright...I miss her._

* * *

And, lastly, the Demacians gathered together in Garen's room.

They didn't exchange words.

The absence of Lux was causing physical pain, Garen thought. His chest throbbed.

As the hour grew late, and the silence remained unbroken, he at last said what everyone was thinking: "I thought it was the right thing to do."

"Well, Garen, you thought wrong," Fiora said, raising her eyes to his.

Garen looked desperately around the room, trying to find an ally. One by one Jarvan, Shyvana and Quinn lowered their gaze. Even Valor wouldn't look at him.

"You thought it was right too!" he said suddenly. "You sided with me!"

"And now look." Shyvana laughed bitterly, exposing her large, serrated teeth. "The Institute is in a state of undeclared war. This isn't a victory for Demacia, Garen. It's damage to the whole of Runeterra. We can't even get messages out to our troops."

"Where is Lux?" Jarvan asked suddenly. "Where is our General at our time of greatest need?"

"She -" Garen swallowed.

Jarvan looked at the ground. "Is she truly with the Noxians?"

"Has she deserted us?" Fiora whipped around, startled. "Did she leave us?"

"No!" Garen took a deep, shuddering breath and lowered his voice. "No, she hasn't deserted."

"Garen." Shyvana's eyes burned into his. "Are you sure?"

"She's in love with that blonde boy." Garen rubbed his temples. After his months at the Institute, he was out of practice at leading troops. A year ago he would have been the perfect image of calm. And now...he could barely control himself.

"I fail to see what Luxanna's infatuation with Ezreal has to do with our current situation, Garen."

"It's quite simple. Ezreal is friends with Ryland. Ryland is friends with Katarina."

"And Lux is helplessly besotted with Ezreal." Jarvan IV sighed deeply. There were times Garen forgot about his royal lineage, like now. He looked so downtrodden, so defeated. "I knew her emotions would get in the way of things eventually."

"Why?" Fiora snorted. "Because she's female?"

"No, because she's Lux. Her success as a general was dependent on her deep passion, her commitment to the cause." Jarvan bowed his head. "I fear that passion has been diverted."

"But we don't know, do we? We haven't heard a word." Quinn rested her head on her hand, communing with Valor, looking into his golden eyes.

"We could use Valor as a messenger." Fiora perked up suddenly.

"And say what? We're sorry? The Demacians are destroying the place?" Jarvan threw back his head and laughed. "Who would we even send it to?"

"You must remember that we, as a group, did not actually do anything," Garen remarked calmly.

"That's even worse!" Shyvana snarled, sending tiny embers sparkling to the floor. "We can't even take ownership of actions on our behalf!"

At that moment, something knocked against the window.

The champions lurched to their feets, ready for battle. Fiora and Garen's swords were by their sides at an instant. Quinn's crossbow hummed with tension.

Valor screeched, spreading his wings. The fluttering form at the window cried back in return, in a similar tone.

"It's a hawk," Garen murmured. _What on earth_? He strained his eyes, catching sight of a small white scroll clutched in the form's talons. "What are you waiting for? Let him in, Jarvan."

Jarvan moved cautiously to the window. When he unlatched it, a hawk twice the size of Valor flapped in. Its enormous black form seemed to fill the room, eyes glowing a disturbing shade of red.

"What does the scroll say?" Shyvana, unimpressed, marched towards the hawk and snatched it. "Message from Noxus. Hawk-delivered." She passed it to Garen. He was in charge since Lux wasn't present.

Swallowing hard, he began to read the letter. The black hawk landed beside Valor, chittering quietly to him. Quinn listened intently.

_ To Whom it May Concern,_

_ We, the Noxians, would like to emphasize that, despite any aggression shown, we are not seeking to create a state of war. Given the status of the Institution and the role it plays in Runeterra, we hope that you feel the same. _

_ Regards,_

_ General Jericho Swain_

Garen swore aloud. The Noxians knew of Demacia's involvement...his heart shattered. Angry tears flooded his eyes. _Oh, Lux. You betrayed us. All for that blonde headed boy._

He crumpled the letter in his hand and let it fall to the floor. He left his troops, storming from the room and slamming the door. The force reverberated the entire quarters.

"What is going on?" Jarvan pressed his thumbs to his eyes. "I knew we shouldn't have backed this."

"There's nothing we can do now but follow through." Shyvana's eyes glowed like coals against the encroaching darkness. "Everything's in motion now."


	21. Lux and Garamond

"Venerable Summoner, what do we do? We need a plan of action." The naked fear on Zandred's face cut to the very quick of Darrigan's soul.

"Peace, Zandred. Nothing has happened yet."

"Nothing has happened?" Zandred's voice broke. "Venerable Summoner – Darrigan – we have an injured Noxian! We have Talon in custody! And nothing has happened?"

"It was a figure of speech. What I mean is, the walls of the Institute still stand. The Demacians and the Noxians haven't launched firebombs at each other."

"It could happen," Merilyn murmured. She appeared by Darrigan's side, a translucent white nightgown clinging to her body.

"It could. M'lady, I'm afraid I must bear even more bad news."

The other Summoners clustered in Darrigan's living room sat up, attentive.

"What is that, Zandred? What other calamity could possibly affect us now?"

"M'lady – oh, heavens." Zandred closed his eyes. "I need coffee. I'm going to fall out at any moment."

"Spit it out," Darrigan rumbled.

"Your son, Michael, has implicated you in this plot."

Merilyn's eyes widened with shock. "Me? How? Do I look fit enough to be an assassin, Zandred?" She gestured at her body that, trim as it was for a woman of forty, was not nearly muscular enough to fling blades.

"They claim you ordered the strike and that it is Demacian in origin."

"Why would they say such a thing?" Merilyn pressed a hand to her quivering lips. "I would never-"

"My wife would never threaten this institution!" Darrigan pounded the table, his leathery cheeks growing red. "Never! Do you understand me?"

"I agree, sir. But, I must reiterate - we need a plan of action."

Darrigan snorted. "Right. We need messengers, go-betweens for different groups. We also need people to assess what's going on. Find Summoners the champions trust. We're going to open Central Fountain as a shelter for the Summoners who aren't here. Find the cooks and get them to set up dining services. After we gather further information, we'll act."

Zandred shot a desperate glance at Erinae, Jatt and Turley, his assistants. "I trust you three. Erinae, you're the principle message-runner between Demacia and Noxus. Go to the Noxians first."

Erinae bowed her head. Having been promoted from Novice scarcely two days ago, the weight of such an assignment terrified her. She refused to let it show. Her golden eyes burned with determination.

Jatt and Turley grabbed her hands and squeezed them.

"I will not fail you, master."

"Any other orders, Venerable Summoner?" Zandred sighed deeply.

"Tell anyone you see not to panic, Zandred." Darrigan leaned back in his chair, looking old. "Maybe they'll listen."

* * *

"Are you sure it's safe to evacuate?" Lux's voice was small and uncertain.

"We must. Whoever did this may be back." Taric scratched his chin. "I'd love to meet up with them…"

Soraka patted his back. The energy they had exerted in healing Katarina left them all with throbbing migraines. Taric's misstep was understandable. Still, Soraka reminded him, "Aggression is not the way of the Supports."

"True. True. Ryland, are you capable of carrying Katarina?"

"I am." He hefted her into his arms as gently as he could. She buried her head into his chest.

"I need you to be alert, Ryland." A note of warning crept into Soraka's voice. "Your night senses are better than ours."

"I'll try my best."

"No distractions," Taric added.

Ryland nodded, black hair covering his eyes. "You'll be safe," he whispered to Katarina.

"Do not worry. We'll flank you." Swain rubbed his eyes, tired. "It's been a long time since we've been on a night mission, eh, Darius?"

"It sure has. Draven?"

The axe-thrower readied his blades. "I dare anyone to mess with Kat. I dare them."

Soraka looked over their diverse company. Beside a mermaid and a Yordle, a Noxian commander. Beside champions, an enigmatic mage, bearing a helpless assassin in his arms.

_Surely a truce between these people can't last forever_…

She pressed the thought from her mind. "Swain, will your contingent be staying with the Supports tonight?"

"We shall. Tactically, it is the best decision. I've already sent a message to the Demacians. Hopefully they won't open fire."

Ezreal shuddered, reminded of his days scavenging battlegrounds. Lux pulled him closer. "It'll be alright," she murmured into his ear. "I promise."

"We'll see."

Soraka looked over the crowd once more. "Do we have anyone? Where are Talon and LeBlanc?"

"Talon is in custody," Swain announced. "But he is innocent. As for LeBlanc, she's likely wandered off. Her ties to Noxus are not strong."

"Two shadows," Ezreal whispered. "Was it her?"

Ryland overheard him. "No, the shadows were tall. I promise."

Swain busied himself organizing the group into a round formation, with Ryland and Katarina at its heart. The Supports formed the inner circle, while the Noxians, plus Lux and Ezreal, formed the outer. Soraka joined Swain at the head of the group.

"Forward, march!" the general called.

His voice rang against the stone. The Institution's streets were empty. Beatrice jetted from his arm and began circling them, wheeling through the dark sky, a barely visible shadow among even more shadows.

Lux tried to stop quivering. _Don't embarrass yourself in front of the Noxians, please_. The silence of the Institute pressed heavily against her ears. The windows of all the buildings around them were black. All she heard was the shuddering breaths of the people around her and the clinking of the Noxians' armor.

And her heartbeat.

_Be brave, Lux. They placed you at the rear of the contingent because they trusted you. You're brave, you're strong, you're – _

Her thoughts were cut off by a sharp blade drawing across her neck. Pain filled her, and chilly wetness splattered down the front of her beloved blouse.

She shrieked, high and piercing. The terrible sound echoed from building to building, filling the night with the sound of pain.

The shadow released her and disappeared instantly.

The world dissolved into chaos once more, but she was unaware of it. She slumped to the ground, her eyes closed, her mind filled with soaring whiteness.

* * *

When Lux screamed, Ezreal shouted back. "Ryland! Save her! You've got to save her!"

Ryland placed Katarina on the ground, forcing himself to be gentle, then surged through the dark crowd, elbowing Noxians out of the way.

"Did you see it?" Swain called to Darius. "Did you see –"

"Negative, sir!"

Ryland threw up a mental blast-shield to stop the emotions of the others from overwhelming him. Tears, pain, fear, distress, sadness.

At last he found Lux lying on the ground at the rear of the group. Soraka and Ezreal were beside her.

Even Soraka seemed at a loss. She could do nothing but place a hand over Lux's fluttering heart. Ryland heard her begin intoning the burial incantation and felt a jolt of electric-blue fear.

"Give her air!" Ezreal called. The Noxians and other Supports stepped back, instinctively grouping up.

Ryland whimpered. He could hear Lux's breath bubbling and grating. She was almost dead.

Ezreal's wild eyes sought him out. His hands danced with living sparks. In his horror, his power slipped from his control.

"Ryland! Save her! Please oh please oh please –" The Explorer fell to the ground next to Lux with a howl. The illumination from his hands twinkled off of the twin tracks of his tears.

Ryland knelt with him and placed his hand on Lux's throat. _This might kill me_, he thought distantly. _I've never staved off death before_.

But Ezreal demanded it. He had no choice.

Ignoring his fatigue, he embraced Lux's mind and sent roots of power into her body.

* * *

A vast expanse of icy white. A cloud, perhaps.

_Lux, can you hear me_?

The little Demacian general can, but can't form words. She feels cold. So cold. And this visitor radiates warmth. She moves closer to him.

_Ezreal_…?

_Not quite. You're, ah, badly hurt, Lux._

She says nothing.

_I need you to hold on. Whatever you do – stay with me. Follow me._

She feels powerless, drained of energy. More than that – empty. Empty of love and attachment. _I just want to sleep_.

_No_! The visitor shouts. He pulls her to him and kisses her roughly – anything to keep her awake. The warmth of his lips spreads through her body. _You can't! You can't leave him! I won't let you!_

Lux sees black begin to boil against the edges of the white and cringes into the visitor. _I' m scared._

_Good. Be scared. Run with me_. He snaps his fingers in front of her face. _Run, Lux! You have to!_

She doesn't. Lux whirls. Against the black stands a tall, white figure holding an enormous sword. His armor shines against the dark.

_Garamond? Oh, I've always wanted to meet you. I love you._

Garamond smiles. _I know you do. I love you the way a teacher loves their student, Lux. It's time for you to move on. I have much to teach you. There are wars yet to be won._ Beside him is a white steed. It raises its head and whinnies.

_Lux, run!_ The visitor pulls on her arm. She can't move; her feet seem frozen, and she feels drawn to Garamond's gentle grin. _I'll carry you! _The visitor shouts at last. He grabs her around the waist and tries to lift her.

She can't be lifted. She weighs a million pounds. It's as if she is a star condensing towards its death, growing incredibly dense.

The visitor screams against the falling darkness, lifts her up, and carries her away. He has pulled many muscles and one of the bones in his right wrist is broken. Sobbing with pain and terror, he runs with her towards the light.

As Lux watches Garamond, he crumbles away, surrounded by night. _No!_ _I have to save him! I wasn't old enough to the first time!_

_You can't leave him. You can't leave Ezreal!_ The visitor shouts as she cries _I can't leave Garamond!_

_Garamond,_ she calls, but her voice echoes, fading against the expanse of black.

* * *

Lux's eyes snapped open. Her vision filled with black. "What happened?" she tried to say, but her voice didn't work. The only thing that issued from her mouth was a tiny whisper of air.

She slowly became aware of Ezreal sitting next to her. He leaned in and brushed her lips with his. "Don't talk. You're hurt."

"How?" she tried to ask. Another whisper.

"Another attack," Ezreal whispered back. "You and Kat – you're going to be sickbed-mates for a while, it seems." He tried to give her a comforting smile, but it was weakened by his lingering tears. One of them fell on her chest, mingling with the liquid already there.

"I – "

"Shhh." Ezreal brushed a lock of blonde hair from her forehead. "Don't talk. You'll hurt yourself more."

"Michael?" Soraka shook him, hard. "Michael? Ryland! Answer me!" Ryland slumped over, his eyes wide and blank. "Swain, we need light. I can't see anything at all."

"Get the rest of the people to the Supports Quarters," Swain ordered. "Darius, Draven, stay. The rest of you, lock all the doors and windows. Stay together. Please, for the love of Noxus." He turned towards Soraka as the entourage hurried away. "I have no light."

"Here." Ezreal lit a spark on the edge of his gauntlet. Though tiny, it threw the world around them into high relief.

Soraka frantically slid her hands over Ryland's body. Taric jogged over to them. "Is there a pulse?"

"It's weak. Very weak." Soraka's golden eyes closed with grief. "Now we have three hurt instead of two."  
"Better than one hurt, one dead. The hurt can be fixed. We've always fixed it." Taric muttered. He, too, placed his hand on Ryland's chest, feeling for his vibration that indicated he was alive.

"Physical pain we can fix. Ryland – I'm not sure we can help him," Soraka said fearfully.

"We have to try." Taric lowered his head. Together, he and Soraka began chanting. The words flew into the night. The area of Ryland's chest beneath their hands began to glow a cool, firefly green., but his face remained slack. His eyes had glazed over, like a corpse's.

"His pulse is stable," Soraka whispered. "But everything else –"

"Don't." Taric pulled her close, rubbing her back. Soraka's lips trembled. "Don't. We did what we could."

"We were supposed to take care of him –" Soraka whimpered. "It's my fault."

"Don't." Taric hugged her tighter. "We've done what we could. That's all anyone can ask."

Lux blinked. "What – " Pain in her throat stopped her. She tried to roll over as Swain brought Katarina over, laying her next to Lux.

Kat was awake. "What's wrong with Ryland?" She shifted to eye Lux and saw the dark blood staining her shirt. "What's wrong with Lux?"

"There's been another attack," Swain muttered. "I'm unsurprised."

"Are you serious?" Katarina's eyes blazed with fury. "Again? I'm going to kill those sons of bitches!"

"Not with that arm," Swain said drily. "We're waiting for Taric and Soraka to do what they can for Ryland, and then we will follow the rest of the contingent to the Supports' Quarters."

"We're leaving?" Katarina snarled. "Coward!"

Swain rolled his eyes, oblivious to Taric and Soraka's grief. "Is there anything we can knock her out with?"

Soraka got to her feet with a trembling sigh. "I – I have some of the healing water left. Give her just a drop."

Swain took the vial and dribbled it on Katarina's lips. She fell asleep in the middle of a rant about Swain's family.

Ezreal scratched his head. "Sir – Swain. What are we going to do? We have no one to carry Ryland."

Swain eyed the recumbent mage, weariness creeping into his face. "Darius?"

"Sir."

"Carry your son. We have to get out of here. Ezreal, can you carry Lux?"

"On the Rift, maybe."

Swain snorted. "Get Taric to help you. The sooner we're out of open air, the better. Draven, get Katarina."

Darius gathered Ryland's limp body in his arms. An inscrutable expression passed over his face. "This is the first time I've ever carried him. I never held him, even as a child."

Swain blinked. "That's very nice. Can we move now?"

Darius' face hardened. "Yes, sir."

"Ezreal, keep that light burning." Swain sighed. "We have a long night ahead of us."


	22. Against the Dark

Ezreal pulled his eyes away from Darius with an effort. The light from revealed gauntlet revealed the Noxian's face. Darius' expression, so hardened by years of turmoil and war, softened as he carried Ryland.

Ezreal thought he detected even a trace of love. From father to son. Pain squeezed the sides of his throat.

_I can't think about that right now. Lux needs me. The Institute needs me. _

"What do you recommend be done with Ryland, Soraka?" Swain's cane tapped steadily against the ground, keeping the pace of their march. "I must confess my interest is somewhat selfish. He's recently allied himself with Noxus."

Soraka, engulfed by grief, only shook her head.

Taric grunted. Lux wasn't heavy, but Taric's strength was more mental than physical. "I think Noxus will welcome him with open arms."

Swain inclined his head. "Not many of us possess healing capabilities. Ryland is strong."

"Was strong. This is my fault." Ezreal pushed back another wave of tears. Sadness threatened to drown him with every step he took.

"Now, now." Swain snorted. "I'm sure Ryland will be fine."

"He stopped Lux from dying, sir. I – I wasn't thinking when I asked him to help. If I had known that he was going to hurt himself -"

"He would have been more upset if she had died, Ezreal," Soraka murmured. "Be thankful for his help. Besides, Swain may be right. Ryland has no physical trauma. His pulse has stabilized. Perhaps all he needs is a good night's rest."

"Wouldn't that be nice for all of us," Swain sighed. "I came to the Institute in part because of my advanced age. Now I get all the joys of combat with none of the aftereffects. Usually."

"Ezreal." Soraka slowed down to match his and Taric's pace. "Do you honestly believe Merilyn has orchestrated these attacks?"

"I know she has. I heard her say it. So did Lux." Ezreal looked down at Lux's slumbering, peaceful face. The blood on her blouse had dried a mottled red and black, but the wound on her neck was no longer even visible.

A flawless stretch of swan-white skin. Ezreal longed to kiss it.

The wound had knitted itself together, thanks to Ryland's powers.

_What sort of power does it take, to both stave off death and alter a person's physical body_?

Ezreal shuddered.

"Why would Merilyn do this?" Soraka was saying.

Darius huffed. "I explained it to Lux. She's angry. Unhappy in her marriage."

"So she destroys the Institute and starts the war back up," Ezreal added.

Soraka stared straight ahead for a long time. The hair on Ezreal's neck piqued with the cool breeze that washed over the company. All of them listened for any warning they might have of the shadow's next attack.

At last, the healer sighed, "I'm disappointed in her. I thought she'd be a better person. To respect the time and effort that goes in to making this a nice place to be. Never mind the peace it brings to Runeterra." Soraka pressed her slender fingers to her eyes, trying to rub away the fatigue.

Swain snorted. "That's one advantage of being Noxian. We think the worst of everyone. Isn't that right, Darius?"

"Correct, sir. How long until we reach the Supports' Quarters?"

"No more than five minutes."

"Good. Ryland is…deceptively heavy. My arms are aching."

Swain swatted him. "You can't imagine what aches on me."

Darius tried to smile. The convalescent bundle in his arms dampened his efforts a little. "Sir, I'm not even sure I want to know. "

* * *

Erinae, Jatt and Turley heard Lux's unearthly scream shatter the night.

Jatt gasped. His legs went rubbery. "Did you guys hear that?"

"How could we not?" Turley asked. His knees knocked together.

Erinae's cat-like eyes were dilated with fear. "We have to keep going. We have to."

"I'm scared," Jatt moaned. Turley nodded in agreement, his teeth chattering.

It wouldn't have been so bad if Erinae hadn't forgotten a light source. They were wandering around an unfamiliar Institute, the darkness swirling around in their eyes. The streetlamps were the only light, and even they emitted only a paltry glow that did little to pierce the satin veil of night.

"Come on." Erinae tugged Jatt and Turley's sleeves. "The Noxian Quarters are this way."

After a few minutes, the building rose before them, brooding.

"What do we do now?"

"We find a Noxian and ask them questions." Erinae scowled at the dark and imagined it scowling back. She wasn't afraid. She wasn't afraid.

She wasn't –

"What was that?" Jatt whispered. A shadow glided past the edges of their vision, darker even than the night around them. "What was that?" Jatt's voice broke.

Erinae swallowed hard. "Come on. We have to go in." She fled up the stairs to the Noxian Quarters and banged on the door as hard as she could. "Hello? Hello?"

The door eased open beneath her hand. Swain hadn't locked it.

They stumbled backwards.

A staggeringly tall, broad shadow stood before them. The wind flapped his robes.

Erinae caught a glimpse of a blood-red maw, crammed to the brim with teethlike structures.

Before she realized it, she was running away. Unable to see anything, she seemed to be soaring into the night.

"Erinae!" Turley called. "Erinae! He's got me! He's got –" The word abruptly cut off.

She tried to scream. Her breath whistled out of her.

"No!" Jatt cried. "You've got to fight him!"

"What? Are you crazy? I'm a Summoner, not a champion!"

"Help…" Turley moaned, somewhere behind them.

"Yes, fight me." The shadow appeared before them, holding Turley in his arms, visible only as a pale spot.

"Only if you drop my friend," Erinae whispered.

The shadow released Turley abruptly, its serrated arm catching on the boy's robe. Erinae's mind raced desperately. _Who? Who is it? _

"Zed," she mouthed. Jatt's jaw dropped. Focusing intently, she mentally sent to Jatt, _Don't say it. He'll kill us. _

Her telepathic skills were untrained, and thus weak. Still, Jatt got the message. _Go with Turley. Find Zandred. _Simple words, commands, limited by her lack of formal instruction.

It was all she had.

"But – "

_Go!_

Jatt and Turley's footsteps pattered off. Erinae swallowed hard.

"You want to fight?" she called. She meant for her voice to sound powerful, demanding. Instead, it squeaked past her lips, the words seeming to die in the darkness.

Zed tilted his jaw to the moon and laughed. And laughed.

Erinae raised her right hand in a threatening gesture. She felt the beginnings of magic power begin to suffuse her fingers. A glow – a dim echo of Ezreal's – shimmered around her hand. _I've only got energy for one shot – I better make it good. _

She almost fired it when Zed staggered backwards.

"_Ki-yaa_!" A female voice rang in Erinae's ears. Her eyes strained. _Is that_ - ?

So many shadows. Too many. Three, then four. Vanishing and reappearing in the wavering light of her hand. Erinae heard another male voice. Were they all fighting one another? Or were they all trying to kill Zed?

She didn't want to know. Deserted by her brief burst of confidence, Erinae turned and ran.

* * *

Ezreal restlessly completed another check of his and Ryland's room.

Windows locked, bolted and covered. No shadows under the bed. Every lamp lit.

Lux, Ryland and Katarina rested shoulder to shoulder on the bed with room to spare.

Lux's sleep was normal, if a little deep from the healing salves. Nami and Karma had bathed her, rinsing the blood from her chest. Her lips curved into a tiny, content smile. Ezreal hoped her dreams were sweet.

Katarina's eyes fluttered, and she muttered things occasionally. Things like "Vengeance" and "Defense."

Ryland…Ezreal sighed. He had already checked the mage's chest several times, convinced he wasn't breathing. His chest barely rose and fell at all. He made no noise.

His gray-green eyes had glazed over, unmoving, until Ezreal closed his eyelids for him.

In the lobby, Draven kept watch, walking tirelessly from door to door, twirling one silver axe in his right hand. If anything went wrong, he or the Supports would sense it and alert everyone.

Between Ezreal, Swain, Darius, and the Supports, any threat would hopefully be vanquished.

_Hopefully._

Soraka knocked lightly on his door, using the rhythm they'd established. "Ezreal. May I speak to you?"

"Of course." He opened the door slowly, just in case the shadow could morph into other things. But it was only the healer, looking tired and sad.

Ezreal hesitated, then embraced her briefly. Soraka received it much better than Ashe had, squeezing him back.

"You're such a kind child, Ezreal." She ruffled his hair.

"What do you need to talk about? You should probably get some rest." Ezreal half-smiled. "We don't need another Ryland on our hands."

"That's what I came to talk about. Mind if I take a seat?"

Ezreal gestured to the open portion of the bed. "Be my guest." He shut the door behind her, rechecking every lock.

Soraka leaned over Ryland, peering into his face. "Ezreal…How much do you know about what Ryland feels for you?"

"He said he didn't have a crush on me. He looks up to me."

"That may be true, but he cares about you very deeply. Taric and I are confused by his emotions towards you. It's almost something akin to worship."

Ezreal blinked. "That's – That's flattering. I don't deserve it."

Soraka held up her hand, still looking down at Ryland. "Don't worry about what you deserve or don't. What matters is Ryland's perspective."

"Do you know why he feels that way?" Ezreal grimaced. _If I weren't so horrible at reading people, it would have been obvious._

"From what Taric and I have gathered – Ryland sees you as someone who's an infinitely better person than he is. You're better looking, stronger, smarter –"

"But I don't play instruments." Ezreal closed his eyes. "Ryland's far better at that."

"He sees himself as a failure. Unworthy of attention. He sees you as accepted by everyone you meet - so he looks to you with envy, but also with love." Soraka's voice grew quieter. "And I don't know how Darius' revelation is affecting him."

"Why?" Ezreal shifted. _Not the parent thing again_…

"Ryland is anti-war. He confessed to me wanting to side with Demacia, but feeling out of place."

"Well, yeah. His power is mind-control. Not really something Demacia supports."

"There's that. And the rest of his nature – quiet. Reserved. He's had – issues with Darrigan and Merilyn in the past. There were allegations of abuse…" Soraka's voice trailed off. She placed her hand on Ryland's feverish forehead. "When you demanded him to save Lux, he did. I believe – though Taric disagrees – that Ryland's adoration of you gave Ryland the power to stop death itself."

"What does Taric think?"

Soraka shrugged. "Taric believes Ryland has access to that power all the time. Trivial details that healers like myself find interesting."

Ezreal's knees weakened. He sank into the chair he'd moved beside the door. "Then doesn't that mean that I'm to blame for Ryland's condition? He wouldn't have hurt himself I didn't ask him to."

"I blame the shadows themselves, child." Her golden eyes narrowed. "You are not to blame for Ryland's condition any more than for Lux's or Katarina's wound. The blame rests on those who have blood on their hands. Regardless, there are two main points I wish to make, before I finally get some rest."

"I'll remember them. I promise."

"While you aren't to blame for Ryland's condition, I urge you to remember the power you have over him, and the power he has himself."

Ezreal gritted his teeth_. It certainly sounds like you're blaming me for hurting him…it doesn't matter anyways. I blame myself._ "And?"

"And in order to heal him, I believe you should spend time with him. Your presence has already done him good. It will continue to do so."

"So…"

"Sit by him. Talk to him. Anything." Soraka stood up and shook Ezreal's hand. "Be watchful."

"I will."

"When I wake up, I'll take over so you can rest." Soraka squeezed his forearm. Her golden, almond-shaped eyes mutely pleaded with him. _Please don't let anything else happen to my apprentice. Please._

"Good night, Ezreal."

"Good night."

After Soraka left, Ezreal perched beside Ryland and Lux. He trailed his fingers across Lux's cheekbone.

_ I'll protect you. All of you. At any cost. _

_ I promise._

* * *

Zandred tripped over his robes on his way to knock on Darrigan's office door. The more significant Summoners were still asleep in his living room. Some simply bowed their heads in a cross-legged position. Others stretched out, looking completely comfortable.

The Venerable Summoner and his wife had retreated to his office, where they remained available, but still had a modicum of privacy.

"Sir! Sir!" Zandred's excited knocking caused some of the Summoners to stir. He completely ignored the two trembling novices, who were still panting and white-faced with terror.

Darrigan stumbled sleepily to the door and flung it open. "Zandred? What now?"

"We have ascertained the identity of the assassin." Zandred's purple eyes gleamed. At last the crisis would come to an end. Never mind that they hadn't apprehended the assassin. Knowing the identity was enough.

Enough to hold the chaos that threatened Zandred at bay and reestablish precious order.

"Who?" Merilyn floated to her husband's side and rested a hand on his shoulder.

"Zed," Zandred said in satisfaction. "One of the more recent additions to the League."

"Zandred, are you sure about this?" Merilyn bit her lip. "I don't want to detain anyone preemptively."

"M'lady, you didn't have a problem with apprehending Talon." Zandred frowned. "Why the sudden hesitation?"

Merilyn lifted her head haughtily. Behind Zandred, the Summoners were beginning to stir. "I don't want to make the same mistake twice."

"We should at least bring him in for questioning. I'll get Erinae to –" Zandred's mouth snapped shut. "Where is Erinae? Jatt? Turley?"

"She, ah, was going to fight him, sir." Jatt looked down at his feet.

"Is she mad?" Zandred massaged his clenched jaw, trying to ease some of the tension from the knotted muscle. "It was her first day as my apprentice, and she's going to get herself killed?"

"The shadow – Zed – had grabbed me," Turley muttered. "She wanted to save me. She challenged him to a fight and –"

"And you_ left_ her?" Zandred cried.

Erinae burst through the door. "It's Zed!" she shouted, panting harshly. "Zed!"

"Hush, child," Darrigan rumbled. "We're aware."  
"Yes, quite aware," Merilyn murmured. "Quite well aware."

"You seem upset, m'lady." He eyed her with clear suspicion. "I thought you'd greet this news a bit more happily."

Merilyn fixed him with a steely, unflinching gaze. "Don't tell me you believe that drivel my son was spewing, Zandred."

"Of course not," he said with a bow so low it was bordering on sarcasm. "Now, let's develop a plan to apprehend this assassin. I'm glad you could make it," he whispered to Erinae.

The plucky little novice's blonde hair was plastered to her pasty forehead with sweat. A small rivulet of blood streamed down her cheek.

She still found a smile for Zandred. "Me too, master. Me too."

* * *

Ezreal rested his head on Lux's chest, massaging her stomach. He found himself murmuring things into her soft, blossom-scented hair. Thoughts drifting into his head and out of his mouth.

"I wish I didn't feel so alone. I wish you hadn't been hurt. I wish we were Noxian – no, I wish we could just leave."

Lux stirred. "Ezreal?" Her quiet voice was full of sleep. "Is it really you this time? Am I alive?"

Ezreal sat up. "Yes. Yes. God, it's so good to hear your voice again." He leaned down and kissed her, nibbling her bottom lip. "I feel like I'm about to cry."

"No…no. You don't have to." She lifted her hand and cupped his cheek. Her smile washed over him, drenching him in sunlight. Her blonde hair fanned behind her, a puddle of liquid silk. "Everything is okay."

"Lux – Ryland isn't."

Lux stiffened. "He's not? Is he –"

"He's alive but…when he saved you…" Ezreal knuckled tears out of his eyes. "I don't know what happened. He kept you from dying with sheer willpower."

"Garamond." Her voice was suddenly flat and empty. Ezreal looked down at her in concern.

"What?"  
"Ezreal. I saw Garamond and his white horse. He was coming to help me across. He said – he said there were still wars to be won. Wars elsewhere. On the other side, I guess." Lux's lips quivered. "Everything was getting so_ black_ – it was surrounding me. It was going to _eat_ me. _The darkness was going to eat me_."

Speechless, Ezreal embraced her. Her tremors increased until it hurt him to keep holding her.

But he held her nonetheless. If _Ryland can save her, this is the least I can do. _Her sobs were high and keening_. _The fear she'd kept mostly in check came pouring out of her.

"I should've _died_!"

"But you didn't. You're alive. I'm here. I'm here." He held her tighter, her shakes nearly bruising his ribs.

Ezreal wasn't surprised when he heard the established knock on the door. "I can't leave her!" he shouted.

Katarina twitched and snorted, still suppressed by the healing water. Swain had given her a bit too much of it.

Ryland didn't respond.

"Ezreal, you have to." A muffled voice came through the door. Taric?

Lux's shakes lessened. Ezreal jogged to the door and let Taric and Soraka in. The two healers' eyes were rimmed with red. No sleep for them this night – not while they waged battle against the dark.

"What's happening?" Soraka asked.

"She's talking about Garamond. Her brush with death."

Ezreal saw Soraka's eyes dart to Ryland, record the lack of change, and dim slightly with disappointment. "Luxanna Crownguard. You are alive."

"I could've died –"

Taric made his way towards her, his voluminous black hair tied in a ponytail. His white sleeping robes hung on his body. "But you didn't." He placed a large hand on her forehead, obviously wrapping Lux in a healing aura. "Death is something you made peace with on the battlefield, Luxanna. All great generals do so. You are a great general, so I assume you've done the same."

Lux relaxed, her shakes ceasing. "I made peace with that sort of death, yes."

"Like all things on the battlefield, you will overcome this fearful encounter. Ezreal will help you. Right, Ezreal?" Taric looked askance at the Explorer.

Exhaustion was writ largely on the Explorer's face and body. A bit of blonde stubble clouded his lean jawline. His blonde hair wreathed his head in uncontrollable, flaxen waves.

His clothes were tattered. His blue eyes, a brilliant aquamarine blue in this light, were rimmed with red from grief and exhaustion, shining oddly against his pale skin.

Still, he nodded. "I will do whatever it takes."

"Now rest," Taric murmured. Lux's eyes closed. "Ezreal, you too. Lie down. Soraka and I will keep watch."

"It's only been an hour –"

"Meditation does wonders, my boy." Taric half-smiled. "We will maintain wakefulness."

Ezreal collapsed next to Luxanna. He thought he was going to stay awake, but slipped beneath sleep's quicksilver cloak in less than five minutes, his hand entwined with Lux's.


	23. Sunrise

_ With a vicious snarl, the Void Wolf launched itself towards Attimeo. In that brief moment Attimeo had time to reflect on his actions. The poison he sold as medicine. His collection of mistreated whores. His unspeakable offenses on Noxian children. _

_The Void Wolf seemed to know these things. Its red eyes gleamed with the prospect of vengeance. Its paws crushed Attimeo the Alchemist's chest. As he breathed his last, the Void Wolf tore his heart from his body, still beating, and carried it to his master, Ryland. _

_Ryland lifted the token triumphantly above his head and said, "No more shall this charlatan, this faker, trouble Noxus. Through my power, I have saved its citizens once more." After using his dark arts to absorb Attimeo's arcane powers, Ryland tossed the organ to the Void Wolf, who gobbled it up. _

_- The Many Adventures of Ryland the Knight_, Casteel White of Noxus

* * *

Taric and Soraka held silent vigil over Katarina, Ryland, Ezreal and Lux for an hour. Somewhere, a clock chimed the hour of four.

Taric shifted. "I'm getting tired. I used to be able to meditate for hours at a time."

"I'm guessing that was somewhere with a slightly more, ah, peaceful atmosphere. Somewhere where around one hundred champions weren't on the verge of panic."

"There's that, but something is nagging me too."

"You mean on top of the chaos?"

"I suppose it's a component of it." Taric's eyes fluttered open. "Have you noticed that Ezreal is becoming increasingly unstable?"

"What do you mean?"

"His power fluctuates. He loses control of it. Emotionally – well, he did almost kill Miss Fortune yesterday."

"That was yesterday? It seems so long ago already…"

"I wish I knew what was causing it. The instability. He could hurt someone."

Soraka sighed, looking over at the Explorer. His face was buried in Lux's neck. He was clinging to her, even in sleep. "While it's not our first priority, I share your concerns. What do you think is causing it?"

The healer frowned. "I wonder if it's all the people he's around. The stress. His life has changed dramatically."

"I suppose transitioning from being entirely alone to surrounded by a mob of admirers all the time is a big shift, yes."

"What do you think, Soraka? Your insight into these matters is better than mine."

The compliment brought a tired smile to Soraka's face. "Not better. Different. Different perspectives can still be true." She stretched her weary back, wincing in pain. "I think it's Ryland."

"How would that work?"

"The magic in both of them reacts to each other. It's like watching two stars collide…when they're together, it's as if they're in the middle of an interstellar furnace. And the power that results from their collision is simply enormous." Soraka squeezed Taric's shoulder. "What Ryland did with Lux – that's something I've only heard rumors of. I know that you and I could not have saved her."

"Soraka." His green eyes gazed into hers. "That's terrifying."

"Someone with the power over life and death? Yes, it's quite terrifying."

Taric glanced over at Ryland. The boy's chest still barely moved. Taric lowered his voice, nonetheless. "He's so moody, too. So passionate, then so cold."

"The only constant in his life is his adoration of Ezreal," Soraka murmured.

"And with Ezreal growing unstable as well…"

Soraka closed her eyes. "Let us focus only on matters we understand and can control."

Taric was silent for a long time. Soraka could taste his fear, feel him struggling with it. Taric at last bowed his head. "Yes. Let's."

* * *

Day broke, ending, at last, the night and its accompanying terrors.

Champions and Summoners alike began to creep out of their bunkers. Many of them appeared weary, while others seemed refreshed. Not everyone had passed a sleepless night.

Together they gravitated towards the center of the Institute. If there was to be news of any kind at all, it would doubtlessly be given there.

A marble statue of a Summoner sat squarely in the middle of the plaza. Water poured down its sides in a comforting rush. In front of it sat a high pedestal with a podium, the perfect place for their leader to speak.

The Summoners were punctuated by clusters of champions. Blitzcrank and Orianna stood beside Xerath, the former two communicating in clicks and beeps. Something must have been funny – they both emitted a series of mechanical laughs. Xerath threw off a pale blue light against the early-morning haze that shone off Blitz and Ori's metal skin.

The carries appeared near the fringes of the crowd. Graves sipped black coffee from a thermos, his dark cloak thrown over his shoulders. Fatigue darkened his eyes and hollowed his cheeks.

Miss Fortune showed subtle signs of wear as well. Her usually immaculate red hair was a bit frizzy. The guns by their sides sent an eloquent message: if anyone dared to disturb them, they'd better be prepared for a Buckshot and a Double Up to the face.

Ashe, Tryndamere, and Anivia held their peace nearby. The frost crystals forming Anivia's body painted sparkling, dancing patterns in the dim morning light. Tryndamere's sword had been tirelessly polished during the night, gleaming almost as brightly as the wings of the Cryophoenix. Ashe, too, had readied her weapons – the tips of her arrows were honed to a deadly edge.

Vi and Caitlyn whispered beside them. At one point, Vi reached up to brush a lock of hair from Caitlyn's sleep-pale face. "It'll be alright, Cait. I promise."

"I hope so. I've never dealt with anything like this in Piltover. When he had criminals, we'd find 'em, lock 'em up and throw away the key. This shadow guy…"

Vi grabbed her shoulders. "Caity, if anyone tries something funny, I'll beat them up. I got your back, sheriff."

The Ionians showed up shortly afterwards. Through the long night, they cycled between meditation and physical exercises. Though it was impossible to duel in Yi's apartment, a bit of balance training had done them all good. That, and Yi's invigorating Ionian tea.

Lee Sin and Irelia stretched their muscles, walking tall as they approached the crowd. Irelia's chin was raised defiantly. _Project an air of confidence_, Yi told them before their departure. _Sometimes it is the best defense against feat._

Irelia glanced over at Yi. He was scanning the crowd, obviously looking for Karma. She turned to Lee Sin. "I wish this assassin had gone for me instead. I believe I'm more than capable of handling whoever it is."

"I believe the same." Lee Sin flexed his muscles. "Hopefully he goes for both of us. I wish to fight him as well."

Irelia smiled fiercely. "There wouldn't be anything left by the time I was through with him."

Trundle and Lissandra stood near the middle of the cluster. Trundle tossed his club idly from hand to hand. Lissandra snorted. "Appears corruption isn't only a Freljordian problem. Corruption has its roots here, too."

"Perhaps not as deeply." Trundle shaped his mouth into a rictus resembling a grin. "But perhaps so. We shall have to wait and see."

* * *

A Summoner informed Darrigan of the impromptu meeting taking place. Pulling on a fresh set of purple robes and splashing his face with water, he looked in on his wife. She was sleeping, the poor woman. Best to let her rest.

So thinking, he followed the entourage of Summoners towards the cluster of champions, leaving Merilyn alone.

* * *

Ryland opened his eyes, completely disoriented by the familiarity of his surroundings._ Is this really my room? How did I get here? _"Ezreal?"

Ezreal's eyes fluttered open. "Ryland? Ryland! You're okay!" The Explorer sat up and hugged Ryland, hard. "Oh man, we thought you weren't going to make it!"

Lux stirred. Katarina rubbed her eyes blearily.

"You thought I wasn't going to make it? What happened?" Ryland's face shone with happiness. "You're all okay!"

"Thanks to you, Ryland." Lux sat up, smiling sleepily. "You saved me."

"But how?"

Ezreal shook his head. "I'd rather we not talk about it."

"Some things need to be said. I want him to understand how grateful I am." Lux leaned towards Ryland over Katarina. Katarina snuffled and rolled over. "You saved me from death. Literally."

"I did that?" Ryland blinked. "That's interesting."

"You did something that no other Support was capable of. You – you went into her mind, fought back death and healed her throat."

Ryland blinked again. "Wow. That's – wow. I had no idea I could do that."

"Trust me, man. We had no idea either." Ezreal clapped him on the back. "It was awesome. Terrifying, but awesome."

"Why terrifying?"

"You were in some sort of trance for a long time," Lux murmured. "We thought you were going to die."

"We were pretty sure you were, yeah." Conscious of what Soraka had said, he ruffled Ryland's hair. "Glad you're okay."

"I'm okay too," Katarina mumbled. She sat up groggily. "Does anyone care?"

"Of course!" Lux beamed and embraced Katarina. "Ryland saved you, too!"

Relief crested over Ezreal. _Who knew that the best feeling in the world was your friends being okay? Now I know._

Soraka chose that moment to appear. "Oh! Good morning! I wasn't expecting you to be up. Any of you." Her eyes darted to Ryland. "Ryland? Are you –"

"I'm awake." He rushed to hug her. "I'm awake."

She embraced him fiercely. "I'm so happy you're okay. I would've hated to lose a young man with your potential. I would've hated to lose _you_, as a person."

"Well, you didn't." Ryland grinned. "I'm a fighter."

"That you are, my friend." Soraka held him close. "That you are."  
Taric showed up behind her. Ezreal could see the relief plainly on his face. "Ryland, you're okay?"

"I am too," Katarina grumbled.

"He's a Support," Lux whispered. "Their excited."

"I need all of you to follow me – if you're absolutely certain you're okay." Taric examined each of them carefully.

"I feel great," Ryland said, still smiling.

"Then come with Soraka and me. There's an impromptu meeting at the center of the Institute."

"What for?" Ezreal stood up, stretching his lean muscles.

"According to the Novice who just showed up, they've determined the identity of the mystery assassin."

"Who was it?" Katarina snarled. "His ass is grass as soon as I see him."

"Let me see the range of your arm movement," Soraka said. "Did we heal it completely?"

Katarina swung her arm in irritation. The movement was just as graceful as it would've been without a wound. "Happy now? Tell me who tried to kill me."

"Kat," Lux cried, appalled. "They healed you. Can't you be a little less rude?"

Taric chuckled. "I understand her anger. It's alright. Your shoulder looks fine."

"Awesome." She turned to Lux, Ezreal and Ryland. "Are you guys ready?"

"Yes ma'am." Ezreal's cheeks hurt from smiling so hard. "I'm ready for anything."

"Right this way, then." Soraka bustled off towards the Void section of the Supports' Quarters. "If we hurry, we can catch up to the Noxians," she called.

* * *

The champions made their way towards the central plaza of the Institute. Swain and Darius led them forward. Lux and Ezreal walked hand in hand, beside Ryland and Katarina.

"You should've just fucked me," Katarina sighed.

"Not this again." Ryland laughed and put a hand on her shoulder.

"I'm just kidding, Ryland." Blushing slightly, she murmured, "I'm glad you're okay."

"I'm glad you're okay, too. Hopefully we can bring this bastard to justice." Ryland's walk had a spring in its step. The warm spring air seemed to be cleansing his lungs of fear and darkness. With every exhalation, his tension lessened. "When this whole thing's over, dinner's on me."

"Really?" Katarina's eyes gleamed. "I'm making you buy me the most expensive thing, wherever we go."

Ryland bowed gallantly. "Whatever you wish. Ryland the Dark Knight, at your service." Katarina laughed and embraced him.

Farther back, Ezreal had fallen into step with Lux.

"I – I never want to let you out of my sight," Ezreal confessed. "I've never been so terrified. When you had that panic attack when you woke up... I felt so helpless." He lifted her hand to his lips and kissed it.

Lux's eyes softened. "It's all going to be okay now. I'm sure Darrigan will have a message to give us. Now we'll have a plan."

Ezreal hugged her once more, never tiring of her embrace. "I hope so. I hope everything's okay."

The Noxians and Supports arrived at the center of the Institute at the same time the Demacians did. Lux sought out Garen. He refused to meet her eyes.

Shortly afterwards, Darrigan, Zandred and the other Venerable Summoners joined them. The crowd grew very quiet. Hundreds of sleep-deprived, fearful, or angry eyes fixed Darrigan as he climbed to the podium. Zandred stood beside him, head bowed.

"Good morning!" he called.

The champions and Summoners mumbled a reply.

"After the long night we've passed together, my message to you is regrettably quite short. There have been two attacks. Both people involved have recovered, thanks to the extraordinary talents of our local Supports."

Katarina nudged Ryland. "No credit, huh? That's nothing new."

Ryland shrugged. "I could care less. You two are okay. That's all that matters."

"I know that many of you are shaken because this attack represents a fundamental strike on the deepest foundations of this Institution – that no champion should be harmed outside of the Rift. Thanks also to the bravery of three of our youngest Summoners, we have discovered the identity of the would-be killer." Darrigan paused. "The name will be withheld at this time."

There was a collective groan.

"I'm ready to kill him," Graves shouted. He was backed up by chorus of agreement.

Darrigan raised his hands over his head. "I know that this troubles many of you. I, too, am ready to bring this unhappy incident to an end. However, allowing every champion to go on a witch hunt will only increase the chaos, the disorder that already plagues the Institute. Zandred?"

Zandred stepped in front of the podium. The whites of his purple eyes were tinted red from exhaustion. "Champions. Meet me at Central Fountain at five tonight. If you would like to be involved in stopping him – and I'm sure many of you would," he said, casting a sour look at Graves. "Meet me there, and we will discuss a plan of action. Until then, the rest of you are free. Please take any safety precautions you feel necessary outside of directly injuring one another. There will be no Rift matches today. Thank you."

He disembarked the podium, looking even more tired than before. The crowd grumbled among itself, but gradually dispersed. The Noxians and Supports stayed.

Ezreal noticed that the Demacians weren't leaving, either. Instead, they were huddled together, muttering rapidly to one another.

"I wonder what's going on over there," Ezreal murmured.

"Who knows?" Lux linked her arm in his. "Probably feeling a bit guilty."

"I sent them a message last night," Swain said calmly. "So they are aware that we have implicated them."

Katarina's snarled. "I'm going to go give them a piece of my mind."

"Kat –" Ryland reached out for her, but she was already storming across the plaza. Luckily, the square was mostly empty, so not many people saw when she stood on her tiptoes and slapped Garen on the face with a sharp _crack_. The Demacians drew their weapons, Fiora's blade winking in the sun.

Swain sighed. "I suppose it can't be helped. Come with me." Ryland, Lux, Ezreal and Darius followed Swain as he trotted towards the knot of Demacians. Katarina was practically spitting rage, her emerald eyes filled with venomous anger.

Swain placed a hand on her shoulder and pushed her aside. She stumbled back into Ryland. He held her close, to comfort and contain her.

"I apologize for Katarina's temper, though I'm not sure it's entirely unwarranted," Swain said kindly to Garen.

"I don't take your meaning." Garen's eyes narrowed.

"I'm aware that the attack on Katarina was supported, if not initiated, by Demacian forces." Swain smiled, curling the corners of his face wrap.

Garen looked past the aging general and found Lux. His mouth trembled, as did his upheld hand. "Traitor! You're a traitorous whore!" he bellowed. "You have betrayed Demacia! You'll never be allowed in the military again!"

Before anyone could move, he charged towards Luxanna with a wordless roar, sword unsheathed, aimed at her chest. His face burned red with hatred.

The ends of Lux's baton twinkled in warning. Her lips were quivering, but her resolve wasn't.

"No!" Ezreal cried. _I'll protect you at any cost_…

He flung himself between the two of them, feeling the air crushed from his lungs and his ribs cruise as Garen struck him. Ezreal and Lux both fell to the ground in a heap.

"That's quite enough!" Swain shouted as Jarvan and Shyvana scrambled to restrain Garen.

"It's for the good of the Institute!" Jarvan panted. "Control yourself!"

The Supports jogged towards them, fear at another injury already clouding their faces.

"Are you okay, Lux?" Ezreal murmured. The copper taste of blood lingered in his mouth.

"I'm…fine…" She stood up and dusted herself off. Though shaken, she managed to look her brother in the eye. "Garen, I'm ashamed of you! You and I both know that assassination is not the Demacian way!"

"I only backed it for the good of our nation," Garen snarled, his armor winking in the sunlight. Jarvan and Shyvana tightened their grips on his beefy shoulders.

"So you did back it. Interesting." Swain rubbed his chin calmly, ignoring the newly erupting pandemonium. "And why is that? Why, when we've had a bit of peace at long last?"

"Merilyn convinced us to," Fiora blurted. Then she covered her mouth.

The Supports exchanged glances.

Swain continued kneading his face, lost in thought.

Ezreal shuddered at the emotions radiating from the Demacians – hatred and fear. And from the Noxians – disgust. He didn't notice that his empathic powers had grown substantially since joining the Institute, or that Ryland's nearness amplified them.

Swain had sole control of a dispute almost as old as time itself. Ezreal held his breath.

Finally, he said, "I think we can forge something in both of our self-interests. The Demacians support this Institute, correct?"

Garen's chest was still heaving. He could give no answer.

"Yes," Jarvan answered. "We do."

"We Noxians do as well. Thus, the solution to this quandary is quite simple. You admit to the Venerable Summoner Darrigan that Merilyn instigated this fight, and we will take no action. The Institute will still stand, just as it was."

Jarvan glanced at the Demacians surrounding him. Their faces all spoke the same thing without words. Jarvan bowed his head. "We accept this offer and will notify Darrigan as soon as we can."

Swain nodded. "Sometimes things are very simple. I hope this is the case. Within the walls of the Institute, we are not enemies, but allies. As of now we work together to create peace. I thought you understood that. You didn't. Perhaps now you will."

He turned his back to the champions, looking instead at Darius, Ryland, Ezreal, and Lux. "Come, let us depart. We all need rest."

The Demacians looked askance at Luxanna. _Has she defected? Is she evil now?_ She pointedly ignored them, instead leaning on Ezreal's shoulder. The Supports and Noxians returned to the Supports' Quarters, leaving the Demacians standing alone.

* * *

In the Venerable Summoners' house, Merilyn ranted and raved at the shadow standing calmly beside her window.

"How could you let yourself be seen? It ruins everything!"

Zed said nothing, only peering out into the rising sun.

"You haven't killed any who did this one!" Her wild blue eyes blazed with anger. "What sort of assassin doesn't kill anyone?"

Zed stopped her with an upraised hand. "M'lady," he rasped. "Once again your son has interfered. I assure you that General Crownguard was near to death."

"How? How did he save her?" Merilyn threw her hairbrush into her bedroom mirror, fracturing it.

"I am unsure, as my powers do not lie in that area."

Merilyn swore. Her frizzy blonde hair seemed to crackle with electricity. "Now my husband's going to tell them who did this."

"I am rather difficult to locate." Zed inclined his head.

"I don't care if they capture you," Merilyn sneered. "They won't be afraid anymore! This whole plan, to make them afraid, to start mutiny – it won't work because no one has died, and now they can put a name to you. You don't fear what you can name," she added, quoting a popular Noxian axiom.

"If it's any consolation, I fought the Kinkou Tribe's emissaries last night. They were…not victorious."

"They rarely participate in Institute matters anyway." Merilyn paced, huffing. "Darrigan's on his way now, to make some grand speech that keeps this wretched hellhole in one piece."

Zed bowed his head. "Then what do you wish me to do, m'lady?"

Merilyn scowled into her broken mirror. The fracture cracked the middle of her face, splintering it into odd, disjointed features. "Only the death of one person can bring this Institute crashing down. I pray you complete the task to its fullest, this time."

"Name your target."

In Merilyn's mind's eye, she saw Michael summon a shadow clone of Ezreal. The boy had talked to the clone for hours on end.

She saw Michael argue that the Institute should treat Ezreal better, tears coming into his gray-green eyes as he talked of his favorite champion.

She saw Michael watching all of Ezreal's matches, excitement illuminating his pale, thin face. Excitement and love.

He deserved to be punished for foiling her plans.

"Ezreal," she said at last. "I need you to kill Ezreal. Bring him down, and this Institute will fall."

Zed bowed. "M'lady, it will be done."


	24. Unity

_N.B. Hello, readers. Thanks once more for reading this far. I appreciate and cherish the unfaltering support you guys have shown me over the course of this work! As a reminder, I read all reviews and use them to shape the story, so please let me know what you think._

_It is only fair to warn you that this chapter contains content that isn't suitable for all age audiences. If you wish to forego it, skip from the third to the fifth page break. Happy reading!_

* * *

_Power is the most mysterious and useful component of our universe. There are many debates about it and definitions of it. Wuju Style holds that power is drawn from the natural world around us. We are vessels for the force of the trees, the moon, the air and the stars. We must channel the power carefully, for vessels are fragile. Too much power can destroy the vessel, in the same way too much rain can wear away a rock. _

_- Meditations on Wuju Style_, Master Yi

Zed crept silently from shadow to shadow, always avoiding the light. His soundless movements contained an eerie grace reminiscent of a Noxian ballet dancer. The very champions and Summoners who sought him didn't sense him, and he was able to listen in on their conversations.

The Demacians reached an agreement as he stood beside Garen's right shoulder. "We'll inform the Venerable Summoner about Merilyn after Zed is apprehended," he declared. The Demacians nodded assent, still looking ashamed. _They got far more than they bargained for with me_, Zed thought. _Demacians. Always lustful for bloodshed, but terrified when it actually happens._

As Zed vanished and reappeared, looking for the golden-haired Explorer, he reflected on the nature of Merilyn's assignment. Though at first her tasks had seemed to support the Demacian cause, the nature of them quickly changed with the attack on Lux. It seemed that Merilyn had a personal agenda to pursue.

Not that that bothered Zed in the slightest. After all, that's why he was doing what he did – personal reasons. He thrived on chaos, disorder, and fear. The reward Merilyn was offering was also quite substantial.

Meditating on his future riches, Zed sank into the shadows with a barely suppressed laugh.

* * *

"What do you recommend we do before we meet Zandred?" Ezreal looked to Taric and Swain. Lux leaned on his shoulder, her eyes closed.

"Honestly? I would try to relax as much as possible." Taric looked askance at Swain and Darius. Darius wasn't paying attention – instead, he was avidly examining the tree in the Support lobby, running his hand over the bark.

"I wish Noxus had trees like this," Darius sighed. Swain glanced at him.

"Darius, I suspect that now isn't the time to reveal your affinity for plant life," the general sniffed.

Taric cleared his throat. "Anyways, as I was saying – would it be a safe tactical decision to allow everyone to rest?"

"After that night? Of course, my good man. Supports included."

"Excellent." Soraka yawned behind her hand. "There are a few extra rooms available – I'll show the Noxians to them."

Lux squeezed Ezreal's arm with a sly smile. "It will be nice to get some rest, won't it, Ezreal?"

Ezreal flushed and looked around. No one was paying attention to them. He started moving towards his and Ryland's room. It was empty, as Ryland, perhaps with his psychic senses, had the foresight to accompany the Noxians to the spare rooms. "Yes, it will be rather nice."

"Sorry if I come off as overeager," Lux murmured. A leaf fluttered to the ground beside her. "After my brush with death, I've decided to live life to the fullest."

"And I suppose that involves a, ah, certain type of encounter." Ezreal's face burned. When he and Lux had almost had sex in the Noxian Quarters, he'd been the one leading the way, the one in charge. It was clear from Lux's hand resting on his belly that he was going to be the follower this time.

"Perhaps many of those certain types of encounters," she whispered in his ear, her hot breath feathering the side of his face. She pushed him in the room and locked the door.

* * *

In a spare room, Ryland lie next to Katarina, hands folded behind his head.

Kat rested her head on his chest, her silky red hair fanning behind her. Ryland watched her face. It was surprisingly calm, given that she'd been attacked. He hoped his auras were helping any anxiety she might have.

Katarina stirred. "Ryland?"

"Yes."

"How's it feel to be the hero in this situation? You saved me and Lux."

Ryland winced. "I'm not receiving any credit for it, so I feel the same. Besides, that's not why I did it. I did it just for the two of you. "

"Oh. Well…is there anything I can do for you?" She yawned. "In Noxus, when someone saves someone else's life, it's usually because the person who needs saving owes that person something. And if they didn't before, they do afterwards."

"Remember when you said you'd fix me being a virgin?"

Katarina perked up. "Are you serious?"

Ryland fought the blush rising to his cheeks and lost. "Umm…I'd appreciate it."

Katarina shed her clothes almost immediately and stood before him. Ryland looked her over – porcelain perfection. Her breasts were high and tight, keeping with her toned muscles. Her ass was firm, too. When she came back to bed with him, he squeezed it. She gasped, then sighed with pleasure.

"Do that again. Guys in Noxus never do that."

"Are you serious? I thought that'd be the best part." Ryland kneaded the muscle with his hand. Katarina's lips brushed his cheek. She was almost purring.

"They never do. They just brutally fuck me and move on." She met his eyes. Her pupils were dilated, giving her a feline appearance.

"They should appreciate your body," Ryland murmured. He moved his hand from the base of her neck to the small of her back, relishing the softness of her skin. Then he caressed her breasts, his fingers playing across her nipples. Katarina shivered.

"Do you have anything in mind for your first time? Any fantasies?"

Ryland tilted his head, considering. It was difficult to think while Katarina's delicate fingers worked their way up and down his erection. "I'm not sure."

Kat nudged him. "Get naked. You'll figure it out."

His pants caught on his dick as he tried to get them off. He stumbled and laughed out loud at his clumsiness. "Can you see why I'm still a virgin?"

"Everyone's a klutz sometimes. Here, let me help." She pulled off his black boxers, her eyes widening and darkening even further with lust. "I forgot how well skinny guys are endowed."

Ryland's face flushed. "Thanks?"

Katarina's eyes traversed his entire body, drinking in his pale, broad shoulders, the beginnings of abs on his stomach. She kissed his chest. He tasted sweet.

"You're huge."

"So I've heard. From you. Twenty seconds ago."

"Think of anything yet?" Katarina's lips traveled lower as she knelt on the floor, sending a tingle up Ryland's spine. A small moan escaped him as her tongue brushed the head of his length.

"I can't think at all…" She needed an answer. "Wait. Wait. The shower."

Katarina paused, the head of his penis still in her mouth. The warmth and wetness of her mouth sent sensations of exquisite shock through his body. She removed him. "I had no idea you were so romantic."

"I'm a sucker for romance." He smiled. "Empath, remember? Gives new meaning to putting other peoples' pleasure before your own."

She led him towards the shower, almost dancing. She looked into the bathroom mirror and fluffed her hair, still grinning.

"God, I'm hot."

"I know."

She looked over at him and trailed her fingers across his dick again.

Ryland admired how unselfconscious she was. She didn't feel insecure in the slightest. As she shouldn't.

She turned on the water, got inside, and pulled him in after her. He kissed her, slowly, deeply, feeling the warm water pound over them. It was like being in a waterfall. Being in a waterfall with a goddess. Soon both of their bodies were slick with moisture.

He felt her own sexual desire pouring out from her in a red-hot, cinnamon-tasting wave. He felt something deeper from her, too – a mingled burst of affection and gratitude for his consideration. Ryland thought of how pathetic Noxian lovers must be, if they let Kat feel unappreciated.

He held her close, letting the sensations wash over him, eroding thought. When Katarina guided his dick inside of her, he had already forgotten who he was.

He heard her moans amplified by the water vapor surrounding them. Even though Katarina possessed a decent amount of sexual experience, she was still very tight. She was right – he was huge. Using the water as lube, she worked him inside of her. He grabbed her buttocks and lifted her, pressing her hard against his erection. He leaned his head back.

When they came, they came together.

* * *

"Get naked," Lux ordered. Her blue eyes danced with mischievously. "Or else."

"Or else what?" Ezreal smiled as he took his gauntlet and shirt off. Lux held her breath. She would never tire of his body, she knew. It hadn't even hit its peak yet.

"I'm sure I can think of some…suitable punishment. I am in the military, after all."

"Drop and give you fifty?" Ezreal laughed.

"Worse than that. Maybe a spanking."

"That sounds like fun." Ezreal unbuttoned his pants.

Lux snorted. "I didn't know you were a freak."

"I'm not _really_ a freak." Ezreal removed his pants. His boxers were a deep green that offset his tan legs.

"Take those off, too."

"Who's the freak now?" Ezreal half-smiled; his eyes wouldn't meet hers. Lux could tell he felt uncomfortable.

"What's wrong?" she asked.

"I'm not used to this, is all."

"Used to what?" Lux patted the bed beside her invitingly. "Bedroom exploring?"

"Not being in the lead."

"Oh." Lux blinked. "Kat told me that guys like to be pushed around in bed."

"Not all of them." Ezreal gazed at her. "Some of us like to be on top." He leaned towards her and kissed her earlobe. He smelled of lonely pines in forgotten forests.

As he massaged her collarbone, a tingling sensation filled Lux's body, like thousands of shooting stars. His hands were so rough, yet so warm.

So loving.

He kissed her cheek, then her mouth. His arms wrapped around her waist, pulling her close. She sighed as he pulled at her blouse. She took it off, feeling the air stipple her skin.

_At least I'm wearing cute lingerie today_. Ezreal smiled ruefully at the confection of pink and black ribbons covering her breasts. "Interesting choice, Luxanna."

"I thought you'd like it."

"I'm more of a natural-loving guy, myself." He unbuttoned her bra with steady fingers. "You don't have to dress up for me."

She closed her eyes, focusing on his fingers as they massaged her breasts. He pulled at her pants. She took them off, along with her matching underwear, and sat before him, entirely naked. Her arms crossed instinctively across her chest.

"Don't hide," Ezreal murmured. His hand enveloped her wrists and removed them.

"I'm not accustomed to being looked at," she said, her chin raised. His darkened eyes roving over her body filled her with emotions she was unfamiliar with. The desire in his face. The hunger. "E-Ezreal?"

"Hmm?" He shook his head slightly, the spell broken. "Sorry if I scared you." His lips pressed to her ear. "I was distracted. Relax, Lux. You have to relax." His hands kneaded her breasts, then her stomach. "There's no need to be afraid…" She said nothing. "Don't think."

"I won't be." She closed her eyes.

He went slow.

His hands massaged the tension out of Lux's body, squeezing, kneading, caressing, until her muscles relaxed at last. She didn't even flinch as his right hand moved towards her center. He lightly brushed the outer lips.

When his fingers penetrated her, she moaned, losing herself in the sensations he caused.

"There we go," he said quietly. "Relax."

She closed her eyes as he moved inside her. Something was wrong, though.

"Spread your legs wider, Lux."

"Oh, I'm sorry." She opened her eyes to find him gazing at her face. His long-lashes fluttered. His smile broke her heart.

"Don't be embarrassed. It's a good thing."

"It doesn't help, how big you are." She relaxed, letting him in all the way with a tiny sigh.

He moved over her. "How do you feel?"

"Wonderful," she said. She meant it.

* * *

The Supports sat, ringed around their pavilion, meditating. Someone knocked on the door leading to the Quarters, interrupting them.

It was Yi. He smiled sheepishly as the Supports' meditations ceased.

"What is your business?" Soraka asked, cracking open one eye.  
"I'd like to speak to Karma," he said, his voice slightly muffled by the glass door. "If that's alright."

Soraka nodded and resumed her incantation for peace and safety. Karma shot up, straightened her robes, and went to meet him.

"Yi! I was worried about you…for safety reasons, of course." She opened a fan and hid her face with it, determined not to expose her emotions.

"And I, you. For different reasons." Yi bowed his head. "I've been foolish."

"What do you mean?" The fan in her hand trembled. "I see no evidence of it."

"Karma –" he sighed through his nose. "I see now, through my meditations, what a help you would be. You value balance above all else, something that I haven't done."

"Your lifestyle seems most balanced," she said tightly, her voice almost cracking.

He folded her fan and put it aside, taking in Karma's quivering lips and the tears in her bright eyes. "I haven't maintained a balance between this world and the other world, Karma. And I need you to help me do that."

"Oh."

"You know from personal experience that the wisdom of the elders is not always the best." He was referring to Karma's village in Ionia. When the elderly monks insisted that a pacifistic approach be taken towards the invading Noxian armies, Karma had unleashed her power, going against years of training to support peace.

He continued, "This life has desires that are just as important as the concerns of the next life. Namely, wifedom." He got on one knee and clasped both of her hands in his. "Will you do me the honor?"

Karma pressed her other hand to her lips as happiness soared within her. The other Supports, feeling the thunderburst of emotion, abandoned their meditation and hurried to see what was going on. "I do." Yi stood and embraced her in front of the other Supports' thunderous applause.

* * *

LeBlanc and her clone sat up in Twisted Fate's ruffled bed and puffed on a cigarette each. The dim sunlight filtering through the curtains painted strange designs on her skin.

"I guess it's worth two smokes," TF reflected. He was smoking, too, the covers pulled up to his waist. He tugged on his dark goatee.

"Hush your mouth, old man." LeBlanc took a deep drag and let the smoke out in a circular ring. "My clone did just as much work as I did."

"You're right. Noxian women are wild. I've had plenty, but you were the best."

LeBlanc shot him a hard glance. His eerie, wolfish, yellow eyes gleamed against the gloom of the room. He smiled.

"You mean that?"

"I do," Twisted Fate said quietly. LeBlanc's clone disappeared, leaving the cigarette still smoldering on the bed. TF put it against LeBlanc's lips. She took a deep breath. "Wouldn't mind a lady like you to join my magic show, if you know what I'm sayin'."

"I think I get the hint." She tugged on the hair on Twisted Fate's chest. "We'll dazzle them all."

"You've already dazzled me." LeBlanc held the cigarettes to the side as Twisted Fate kissed her.

* * *

Graves downed another cup of coffee.

"You should probably lay off that stuff," Miss Fortune said, twirling a strand of crimson hair around her finger. "I hear it's bad for your heart."

"You know what else is bad for your heart?" Graves' eyes narrowed. "A blade."

Miss Fortune snorted. "Don't flatter yourself. Do you really think the assassin is after you?"

"Why wouldn't he be?" Caitlyn rolled her eyes. The scent of fresh-baked bread wafted through their makeshift quarters. Jayce had proved to be pretty good at cooking. _And he's quite a hunk, too._

Graves cleared his throat. "I know you all think the attacks are Demacian-backed, but how does that explain Lux? Could be anyone."

"Graves, just be honest." Miss Fortune filed her nails. "Admit that you're scared."

"I'm not scared." He scowled.

"Really? I'm scared," Ashe said quietly. Tryndamere was rubbing her feet with a look of intense concentration on his face. She leaned back into her recliner.

Eager to change the subject, Graves looked over at Tryndamere. "Tryndy, are you really that whipped? I thought you were a king."

Trynd's brow furrowed. "I'm sorry if you can't grasp Freljordian customs with that feeble brain of yours. Do you even have a wife?"

Graves chuckled. "Hell no. And if I did, she'd be the one rubbing my feet. And cooking. And cleaning my socks."

"I think we just found out why you're single." Miss Fortune snickered. Caitlyn and Ashe tried to hide their smiles, but ended up laughing.

Graves pointed at MF. "Just you wait – I'm gonna have a wife and you're all gonna be old hags."

Jayce burst into their room with a sunny smile. "Who wants muffins?"

"How is that okay?" Graves gestured at the Defender of Tomorrow with a look of incredulity on his face. "He's wearing an apron!"

"I'm confident enough in my sexuality to feed you guys." Jayce winked at Graves. Graves' mouth dropped.

The carries around him dissolved into laughter, forgetting their mission that lay ahead.

* * *

Janna and Xin Zhao sat together in the Institute's massive library in companionable silence. "Any luck yet, Xin?"

"No, ma'am." Xin frowned into the book he was reading. "Then again, I never was a master at ciphering letters. My talents lie elsewhere."

"Ah yes. The Fleshing." Janna frowned. "I can't find any information on the assassin. I wish the Venerable Summoner would have released the name, but the Summoners aren't talking."

"I heard that Darrigan threatened them with expulsion from the League if they revealed the name."

"I wonder what that means." A gust caused the pages in Janna's book to flutter. The air around her was always moving, revolving slowly with pent-up energy. "Are they a champion or a Summoner?"

"If a Summoner has that sort of power, I'll admit to being scared."

Janna peered over her book at the warrior. "People are saying that Demacia has backed the attacks."

"That's why I've left the main Demacian group to their own devices. If they are behind it, I do not know of it." He sighed deeply. "I do not wish to know about it. Why aren't you with the Supports?"

Janna scowled, a brief wind blowing her hair behind her back. "They're attuned mostly to empathic powers. So they meditate instead of doing things, like research. I prefer to act."

"Just like the wind," Xin said. He paused for a moment, then returned to his book. Janna joined him.


	25. Zed

N.B. This chapter is dedicated to Waffleface, an avid fan who gave me fresh insight into some of the characters. Thank you.

* * *

_There are as many definitions of power as there are people who wield it. Some believe that emotion is the gateway to strength, both physical and mental. The empaths of Noxus channel their fury and passion through their bodies. In the hands of a skilled empath, any emotion, from despair to jubilation, can become an unstoppable force, much like a summer storm or blizzard. _

_Others rely on deep focus and meditation. Instead of channeling the power, these people prefer to mesh themselves with nature. Many martial artists favor this approach, seeking inner calm and balance._

_Still others care not from whence their power appears, and will use any means necessary to obtain it. _

_- Definitions of Power_, Carlisle Laren of Piltover

* * *

Merilyn hated her son. Absolutely hated him.

The love that sprang to so many other mothers' lips – the twinkle in their eyes when they held their newborn child – was simply absent from her life. In its place was a vast, dark, unfillable chasm.

She recalled the first time she held Michael in her arms. After twelve hours of labor, the best she could summon was a half-smile for Darrigan's sake. Her chest felt cold and empty, even as she pressed Michael's warm form to it.

She expected Michael's looks to give her away immediately – he looked nothing like either her or Darrigan. The dark locks and the gray-green eyes were traces from his true father, as damning as a brand on his skin.

But her husband – her foolish, blundering husband – had only remarked, "Don't you have a grandmother with dark hair like that?"

"I think it may have been my great-grandmother," she had lied. "Or maybe the one before that."

Darrigan smiled down at the tightly-wrapped bundle, his chest puffed out with pride. "It's nice to see traces of the old ones, isn't it? It's almost as if they're born again."

At the sound of those words, Merilyn felt a deep tearing sensation in her chest. _So that's what the storytellers mean when they say heartbreak_, she thought.

Michael was Darius, born again.

From Michael's twelfth birthday onward, after the founding of the League, he spoke of nothing else. He had memorized every champion's win and loss rate. He knew their abilities in and out. When Darrigan was promoted to Venerable Summoner, Michael roamed the Institute night and day, befriending as many champions as he could. He loved to sit and listen to Nasus' scholarly tales, or play hide and seek with the Yordles. Though fairly clumsy, he had Wukong and Irelia teach him basic martial arts.

He discovered his true niche among the Supports. Their loving, kindly attitudes filled him where his parents had left a major lack, soothing and nurturing him. The Supports' skills – healing, empathizing – came naturally to him.

Michael adored the League. And that's why, Merilyn reflected, it was time for the League to be destroyed.

Because Michael destroyed her on a daily basis for over fifteen years.

Every time she looked into his eyes, she saw the shadow of his father, Darius, beckoning to her. She saw the imprint of the woman she could have become. A Noxian commander, someone important – not the trophy wife of a bumbling buffoon.

What better way to destroy all that Michael truly loved in one forceful blow? The death of Ezreal meant the death of the League. Without those two things, Michael would be alone – truly alone – at last.

At last, he would taste her agony.

* * *

Ezreal stumbled out of his bedroom with a yawn. His throat burned with thirst. The power seeping from his pores since yesterday was beginning to weaken him. Even now, the occasional dancing spark flickered through his hair like a shooting star.

Eyes closed, he bumped directly into Ryland. He cracked an eye open.

"Wow, you look really refreshed."

Ryland smirked. "I'm guessing you didn't get a whole lot of sleep."

"What makes you say that?"

"You have an impressive crop of sex hair," Ryland sniffed daintily.

Ezreal looked into one of the windows, squinting to see his reflection. A towering storm-cloud was rolling in from the west. Against the orange and yellow of the setting sun, it looked like the underbelly of a ship.

As Ezreal watched the oncoming storm, he saw one of the strands of his hair dance with electricity. "What - ?" He pinched the light between his fingers. "You're right – I do have bedhead. Something else is going on, too."

"What's that?"

"Check this out. You'll have to wait for it." Ryland stared at Ezreal's hair intently, and twitched when he saw Ezreal's hair glitter with living light.

"Has that ever happened to you before?" Ryland's cool, ocean-gray eyes filled with concern.

"No." Ezreal sighed. "No, it hasn't."

Ryland shifted, standing shoulder to shoulder with Ezreal. His eyes, too, were trained on the incoming storm. "Taric and Soraka told me something I didn't really like to hear."

"Jesus. How long have I been out?"

"An hour or two. Long enough for me to talk to the Supports. It was good for you to get some rest. Or – whatever passes as rest for you." Ryland snickered. "Seems like someone kept you up for a while."

"Seems like you didn't get a lot of rest either." Ezreal nudged him, grinning. " 'fess up, roomie."

"Let's just say that Kat is quite the wild one." Ryland bowed his head to hide his smile. "Pretty wild, indeed. Back to what Soraka and Taric told me –"

"Yeah. Sorry to distract you. I'm just – I'm tired of dealing with negative things." Ezreal gestured at the storm cloud. The sunlight embroidered it in magnificent gold against the black. "Life has been like that, lately. A huge dark cloud. I'm waiting on the good stuff."

Ryland studied the Explorer. A few more embers glimmered briefly in his hair. One or two twinkled on his arms. His blue eyes – deep turquoise – seemed far and distant.

"We'll get to the good stuff." Ryland hesitated, then put his arm around Ezreal's shoulders. "I promise we will."

Ezreal sighed again, deeply. "Until then, give me the bad news. Again."

"Taric and Soraka are worried about you."

"Why?" Ezreal closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Your power seems to have – ah – exceeded your ability to control it." Ryland pointed to his hair. "And the firework show going on in your hair is sort of proving it to me."

"What do they think is causing it? Is it – Is it my lack of self-control?"

"They think it's more of an increase in overall power."

"Caused by what?"

"Me. Or your emotional states." Ryland shrugged. "They aren't entirely sure. All they know for certain is that you've gotten stronger – far stronger – and less stable."

"So what does that mean?" Ezreal turned to face him. "What – "

"Just…" Ryland closed his eyes. Far away, thunder rolled. Ryland could sense rain beginning to patter to the pavement. "Just be careful. Please."

"For you?" Ezreal squeezed Ryland's hand.

"For all of us."

* * *

Zed dissolved into the shadows in the attic of the Noxian Quarters to meditate. He knew already that none would seek him here. The Quarters were vacant, and few people were brave enough to visit the attic. There was a pervasive rumor that these Quarters were haunted.

As he settled squarely onto the small rug he'd brought with him, unstopping his jug of water, Zed stretched his limbs.

Following his transformation, his body no longer grew tired. The dark energy that fueled him was an unstoppable source of power. The stretches he performed were habit, and still felt good, regardless of practical value.

Already he had heard of Zandred's puny 'plan'. As if it was going to work. As if any of the champions in the League stood a chance, if he were to meet them face to face.

He greeted Merilyn's latest assignment with a complicated, gnarled knot of emotions, only untangled through careful meditation and consideration.

Pride and anticipation were a component. He looked forward to his duel, as he had any duel. So much could be garnered from combat. When people were trying to harm one another, their true natures were revealed.

It was only through harming Luxanna that Zed had plucked aside the harsh public mask she put on, casting the spotlight on what truly drove her - terror. While it was true that his assassination – well, his attempt – hadn't contained the grace of the duel, he still found beauty in seeing the truth come to light at last.

All in attendance would never believe Luxanna's militaristic façade again. They would see her as a weak, scared little girl – would see her as she truly was. What lie at her core.

Zed remembered her scream of mingled pain and fear and allowed himself a shiver of delight.

The assault on Katarina had been less satisfying. She was one champion he preferred to fight on the Rift, where both of their skills were showcased. Their power and their deadly grace were almost matches for one another. He knew the Summoners clamored to see assassins fight. On the Rift, he and Katarina's duels never disappointed.

And now, Ezreal.

Which brought him to the contemplation of Merilyn.

_Who is she, really_? Zed found himself wondering. It was clear she had very deep, very personal reasons for trying to overturn the League.

Zed couldn't fathom them.

For all the issues within the Institute – all the favoritism by the Summoners, and the barely-concealed tensions between the factions – the Institute was primarily a good thing. It provided an area where the skills of many different champions could be seen beside one another.

Zed shook his head, still suspended in the shadows. He heard a faint, raspy moan. It didn't trouble him. Acquainted with the dark arts, he had met many a spirit. Whatever apparition made its home here wouldn't bother him in the slightest.

Regardless of Merilyn's motives, only one thing remained left to do, before fleeing the League, as he had fled Shen's father's training school so many years ago.

The duel with the Explorer – the most powerful champion in the League. Or so the Summoners thought.

There were many paths to power. Zed was determined to discover even more of them.

With this duel, Zed could finally prove that the supremacy of his dark arts reigned true.


	26. At the Ready

Ezreal dipped his fingers into the tin of warpaint and carefully shaped the blood-red triangles beneath his eyes. The paint was so cold it burned his skin. Behind him, Luxanna watched, her blonde hair fanned out like the corona of a star. In the mirror, her blue eyes met his.

"What happened to your parents, anyways?"

Ezreal sighed deeply, replacing the lid of the tin. "Why do you want to know?"

"Everyone's curious. You don't have a last name. We know you're from Piltover but…" Lux sat up, stretched.

"They died." Ezreal frowned, focusing on the triangles. They were perfect. He was almost ready. "They died a long time ago. It was my father's last wish that I be trained in archeology and geology." He shrugged self-consciously, and went to the door to pull on his boots. "I always tell Ryland that I don't care who one's parents are –"

"Lineage is important to a lot of people," Lux said quietly. She dug around in her travel knapsack – Darius had been considerate enough to snag it before the pilgrimage to the Supports' Quarters. She began to comb her hair, carefully untangling it. The repetitive action soothed her.

"It doesn't surprise me, hearing a Crownguard say that." Ezreal looked away.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"That your family gave you a name to live up to."

"Have I?"

"I think so." Ezreal stood up, still facing away from her. "Are you going to join us in the hunt for the assassin?"

"Of course. Just give me a few more minutes."

"I don't think you should go," Ezreal began.

"- but you know I'm going to."

"Yes. So there's no point in trying to dissuade you."

Lux splashed her face with water from the sink. "Revenge isn't a particularly Demacian idea, Ezreal. I hope I'm not making it seem that way."

"No, no." He turned to her, touched the side of her face. "I know how you feel. It's an insult to the League, what's happened."

Lux studied him. As she watched, a tiny sliver of golden light traced the triangle on his right cheek. She frowned. "Ezreal? Are you okay?"

"What? Why – oh. The light." He glanced away from her. She lifted his chin with her hand, looking into his face.

"Yeah…that's weird." She leaned closer to him. Something about his eyes wasn't quite right… "Have you looked in the mirror lately?"

"What is it now?" he asked, voice tight with worry.

"Your eyes. The striations in your irises. They're gold now." Luxanna gazed into them. The shining threads shot through the deep, oceanic cerulean of his eyes. The beauty awed her, but also worried her.

Ezreal flinched.

"Ezreal, has this happened before?"

"Has what happened before?"

"The –" Lux was lost for words. "Color changes? Random lights? The sparks?" she added, as a few embers twinkled at the edges of his hair and vanished.

"No. No, it hasn't." Ezreal closed his eyes. "Ryland said something about my powers being amplified. The Supports think stress is causing it. Or something. Or even just regular use. I've never – I've never had to channel the magic so continually before. Hasn't this happened to you?"

"Overflow?" Lux shook her head. "I have to concentrate to cast spells. It's never happened to me naturally."

"Oh." She heard the disappointment in his voice. "Overflow?"

"That's what we call it in Demacia. Pent up energy comes to the surface of your body. I've never seen it happen so suddenly or so forcefully, though."

"Forcefully?" Ezreal tried to laugh. "It's just a few lights in my hair."

"Your eyes are changing color. That's pretty serious."

"It's nothing."

"Are you sure?"

"I'm positive," he said. In the dimness of his room, his eyes glittered like topaz. The light on his glove thrummed, emitting a deep, mysterious blue glow. "We have to meet Zandred soon."

"I know." She kissed him, ignoring the electricity humming from his skin. "We'll be fine."

* * *

Ryland listened to Katarina's tales of Noxus with wide eyes.

"So then we killed the elder of the village and put his head on a pike and took all the children and put them in the military," she finished, combing out her damp hair. Already it was drying to ruby silk. Ryland longed to touch it.

"That's pretty brutal."

"Of course it's brutal. And that's what the Demacians would say." Her eyes glinted at him. "But they do pretty much the same thing. Don't let them lie to you."

"Have they ever killed a village elder?"

"In Noxus? You bet they have. By the cartload."

"So you think the assassin is Demacian?" Ryland frowned. "I don't know if that's true. I didn't feel a Demacian."

Katarina leaned towards him, face alight with eagerness. "Use your empath powers. C'mon, Ryland. All that training has to be good for something."

"I was too scared during the attack to pay attention." Ryland rubbed his jaw. "If it was someone I knew well, I would've known them instantly, but…"

"Oh well." Katarina sighed, disappointed. "I wanted to skip the whole meeting with Zandred and get straight to the heart of the matter, if you take my meaning." She whipped out a dagger and pressed it to Ryland's chest. He swallowed hard and pushed it away, ignoring her feral grin.

"Why do you want to skip the meeting with Zandred?"

"It's going to be boring. Blah blah blah, protect the League, Demacians are the best, et cetera." She shook her hairbrush at him. "You know what I'm talking about."

"If I'd've known sex put you in such a good mood, I would've given in to you earlier." Katarina was practically bouncing from foot to foot, pumped with adrenaline and energy.

"I told you so!" She hugged him impulsively, pressing her small form against his larger one. He blinked in surprise and hugged her back, blushing. "You're so shy and awkward, Ryland."

"What does that make you?"

"Katarina," she said. She brushed the hair from his eyes. "I'd much rather stay here with you. It's a pity that we have to go waste our time killing this guy."

"Killing him? We're going to kill him?"

"Technically speaking, he killed Lux."

"Oh." Ryland's voice was soft and small. "That's…"

"You won't have to do it. If I have my way, you won't even have to watch." Katarina whirled away from him. Hair brushing finished, she turned to her teeth, scrubbing them with Ryland's toothbrush until they gleamed. "Wouldn't want to spoil your innocent eyes," she said through the suds.

* * *

Kat and Ryland fell into step next to Ezreal and Lux. Already there was a sort of pilgrimage taking place, as groups of champions and Summoners headed towards Central Fountain.

The rule about remaining unarmed had fallen by the wayside. Tryndamere's blade reflected the hazy orange glow of the setting sun. The mages' powers were evident by the purple, blue and black auras surrounding their heads, hands and eyes. Even the Summoners carried pocketknives by their sides, unwilling to take any chances.

"Is this what being in the military is like?" Ezreal asked.

Lux chuckled. "Sort of. Only all of our weapons are the same."

"That's because Demacians are uncreative." Katarina nudged Lux playfully. "In Noxus, we carry whatever we want, whenever we want."

"How do you regulate that?"

"We don't."

Ryland snorted, but remained silent. Ezreal clasped his elbow. "You ready?"

"I won't be doing any fighting. But I'll be with you to assist you."

"What else are Supports for?"

"Hopefully Ryland doesn't steal the kill." Katarina swatted him. Ryland frowned.

"That's not that funny."

"Oh, please." Kat rolled her eyes. "All of you are so serious. I swear, the atmosphere around here is just as gloomy as those rainclouds."

Ezreal glanced skyward, ignoring the lightning flickering across his forearms. It seemed to echo the blue heat lightning that sprang from cloud to cloud. He whistled. "Looks like it could get pretty ugly."

"Don't worry. If I can protect Kat from knives, I can protect all of us from rain." Ryland's eyes traced the orange outlines of the clouds.

Eventually, they arrived with a crush of other champions and Summoners at Central Fountain. Ezreal noticed Malik from the gym. At his waist were two half-swords. LeBlanc and Twisted Fate gazed moodily into each other's eyes. TF looked decidedly grim.

Graves caught his eye and hacked onto the pavement. Ezreal's lip curled with disgust. He turned away.

Ryland tugged his shirt. "There's Soraka and the Supports. Let's go."

Ezreal followed Ryland, the Summoners and champions parting around him. He heard the whispers start back up. Whether they came from the crowd or from in his head, he couldn't tell. He sensed a rumor starting – he was the next target. Or maybe it was foresight. He blinked hard and scrubbed at his eyes, jaw clenched. His temples were beginning to throb.

Lux caressed the back of his neck. "Are you alright? Ryland, is he alright?"

Ryland's larger hand joined Lux's. Ezreal felt the familiar invasion of Ryland's presence, flinching slightly as he touched Ezreal's mind. The whispers around Ezreal grew louder with Ryland's touch, and he swiftly withdrew. "I'm amplifying his power," Ryland muttered.

"What?"

"He'll be okay," he said aloud for Lux to hear. "He's just a little stressed out."

With a deep breath, Ezreal forced his eyes open. The beginnings of rain began to patter to the pavestones around them. The scent of parched plantlife welcoming the water filled Ezreal's nostrils.

"His eyes are almost entirely gold," Lux whispered.

Ryland met Ezreal's gaze grimly. Ezreal shrugged. "Soraka's eyes are gold. So are Twisted Fate's. I don't see what the big deal is."

"Ezreal –" Lux sighed. "Never mind."

"Look. We can't worry about this right now." He grabbed her hand, squeezed it hard. "We have to find the assassin first. Then we can worry about my eyes."

"I agree," Kat said suddenly. "But you must be careful."

"Everyone keeps telling me that." Ezreal shook his head, feeling the headache swim around like a distressed goldfish. His head was the bowl. His brain was the water. He pushed the disturbing image away.

"This way!" a Summoner called at the head of the crowd. With a last hopeful smile, Ezreal began moving forward with Lux.

* * *

Zandred stood at the head of the group, purple robes in disarray. "If you intend to hunt the assassin, please go to the right. If you are attending the Summoners' Meeting, stay to the left!"

"They're makin' this feel like the Mayday Parade," Graves growled. Caitlyn nudged him.

"They have to keep order some way. Not everyone's as brave as you, cupcake."

"Don't call me cupcake." Graves frowned as Caitlyn tickled the edges of his goatee. "And stop that! What do you think you're doin', Sheriff?"

"Not everything is serious all the time."

"Tell that to the Demacians," he muttered. He stuck a discreet thumb towards the group of Demacians, huddled near the back of the crowd. Their blue and gold armor gleamed in the dim light. "They're in full battle gear."

"I noticed." Caitlyn surveyed them. Though outwardly, the Demacians appeared impressive – and who wouldn't, with the burnished gold playing against the ocean blue? – Caitlyn detected fear lurking in their eyes. Shyvana, obviously uncomfortable in Demacian regalia, shifted from foot to foot until Jarvan rested a comforting hand on her shoulder. Garen's jaw was tightly shut, and Quinn stroked Valor over and over again, murmuring words of affection to him. "Boy, if the Demacians are scared – "

"I think it's for a different reason." Vi leaned into Caitlyn's ear. "People say they supported the attacks."

"Oh." Caitlyn blinked. "Oh, my."

"The peace will hold," Jayce whispered from the corner of his mouth.

"Why am I always the last to know these things?" Caitlyn huffed. Ever since hiring Vi, she got information at the strangest times and in the strangest ways. It was usually correct, though.

"Nothing to worry about, Sheriff!" Vi smiled, exposing her pearly white teeth. "Jayce and I got your back."

* * *

The Summoners departed from the champions, leaving their group much smaller.

In the lobby of the eerily silent Central Fountain, Novice Summoners whisked from place to place, their blue robes whispering against the ground, lighting oil lamps. The flames danced over the champions' faces, painting them a warlike orange. The banter ceased. For all the sound, the people around could have been shadows.

Not everyone was present, Ezreal noticed. The carries and Supports were there, along with some mages. Leona, Zyra, Riven, Diana, Karma, Yi, and a few others were conspicuously absent.

Ezreal didn't blame them.

Zandred strode to the head of the cluster of silent champions, his boots echoing from the high ceilings, and clasped his hands together. "If you are willing to remove this threat from our Institute," he said without preamble, "raise your hand now."

Every hand shot up.

"I cannot guarantee your safety." Zandred bowed his head. "I cannot guarantee anyone's safety right now. You may be harmed." He lifted his head, indigo eyes scanning every champion. Ezreal shivered. In the fluttering light of the flames, Zandred appeared ancient, beyond time, as eternal as the marble sculpture of the Summoner that sat outside the Summoners' Quarters.

The air within Central Fountain grew denser, thicker somehow. Ezreal's eyes locked on to Zandred's face. He didn't notice the golden spray of light surrounding him, enveloping him. Zandred made an effort to ignore it for the sake of the other champions.

"These attacks on Luxanna and Katarina represent the deepest affront to our Institute anyone could imagine. It is only through the bravery of Ryland that both young women were saved."

The champions shifted to look at Ryland. He quickly hid his face. Given his tall, lean frame, and his ebony uniform, he couldn't hide his body.

"Thus, tonight, I urge each of you – warriors all – to undertake this task. To confront the darkness that the Summoners cannot. I ask you to carry this burden, just as you carry the burden of the Summoners' disagreements. I know I ask much of you. But I need you. We need you." Zandred's face betrayed his weariness. "The Institute needs you. If you'll stand with us, with the Institute, let me know."

The silence seemed to stretch out like an unfurling length of black silk. Somewhere far away, thunder rolled.

Ezreal lifted his gauntlet into the air, the blue light a beacon that attracted every eye. He roared a battle cry so deep and ancient that Zandred flinched. His golden aura flared as he surrendered control of his power. After a moment, Graves joined him with a guttural shout of his own. Then Tryndamere. The Demacians. The Noxians.

Their voices filled the chamber of Central Fountain, ringing the building like an enormous bell. Zed, nearby, heard their triumphal, united shouts. With a derisive sniff, he collapsed into a shadow and faded away.

Let them seek him. He was ready.


	27. Overflow

According to Zandred, it was simple. Groups of champions – sometimes two, sometimes four or five – would fan throughout the Institute, seeking Zed. A Support was assigned to each group, and was in charge of finding Zandred lest anything go wrong.

Darrigan was busy organizing the more combat-ready Summoners as a backup force. If Zed proved too elusive, or too powerful, to bring to justice, these Summoners would join the champions. But only as a last resort.

With an effort, Ezreal reigned in the visible vestiges of his power. He had always been aware of his magic before – subconsciously.

Now, it commanded his full attention. It seemed to simmer in his veins, tickle the corners of his mind, brush his skin with tiny electric kisses. He didn't have to look to Lux to see the worry written plainly across her face. She wasn't even trying to hide it.

Not that she could if she wanted to.

Ezreal knew he could read the thoughts and intentions of every Summoner and champion in Central Fountain. Even Swain, with his iron mind shields, wasn't safe from Ezreal, if he chose to inspect the general.

He felt a hand fall on his shoulder. Ryland, looking grim.

_You have to stop._

_Stop what?_

_Your powers. I – I don't know what's causing it, but it's not safe._

_Not safe for who? Zed?_ Ezreal's grin was feral, so fierce that Ryland took a step back. _I'm ready to bring him down._

Ryland reached for him again. _You're afraid. Your fear is feeding the fire._

"Am I afraid?" Ezreal asked aloud. The Novices and Zandred glanced to him, then quickly away. "I'm not afraid."

"Then what could be causing the Overflow?" Ryland bit his lip, brows knitted in thought. He fished the Ionian Clarinet from behind the breastplate of his Rift costume. His fingers fluttered over it nervously, like the wings of startled birds.

An idea took hold of Ezreal. "Play something."

"Here?" Ryland blinked. "Now?"

"Just do it. Play it. Play – anything." Ezreal shivered. The Overflow made his muscles quake.

Ryland put the clarinet to his mouth and began to play a waltz. The notes bounced from corner to corner of Central Fountain's high ceiling. Some of the Novices stopped grouping the champions together to listen.

Ezreal looked down at his glove. The blue light on it pulsed to each beat. Soraka, standing a little way away with Taric, noticed it and pointed it out. They began to confer in urgent whispers.

Ezreal closed his eyes. His heart, too, followed Ryland's rhythm. The other champions saw the clarinet begin to fill with an airy, liquid silver color, morphing its obsidian color to one of moonlight. The waltz grew louder.

"Stop! Stop him!" Lux cried out.

Oblivious, Ryland continued playing. His breastplate shone the same color as his clarinet.

The champions and Summoners cautiously stepped away from the two young men – one suffused with silver, the other glowing with gold. They stood as if transfixed, paralyzed by the spectacle.

In the dim light of Central Fountain, Ryland and Ezreal shone as stars.

"Ryland! Stop!" Soraka called out. Her hooves clacked against the marble tile as she darted through the champions and novices and pulled the clarinet from Ryland's lips. The silver flame around Ryland was snuffed immediately. Ezreal's aura took longer to disperse.

Ryland blinked. "Soraka?"

"I've had enough of this." She turned to Zandred, who was staring, mouth agape. "We cannot allow Ryland or Ezreal to hunt Zed. It's not safe for either of them."

Zandred shook his head, dazed. "What do you mean? We need every person available, Soraka."

Soraka struck the floor with her crescent staff – a habit she'd appropriated from the elders of her tribe. "Do you not see the Overflow these two men are experiencing? Ezreal now possesses power he didn't have access too. They're dangerous!"

The last word got through to Ezreal, who was listening to Ryland's mind. The music was still playing for him. _Dangerous? I'm dangerous?_

"We need both of them! There's an assassin out there, roaming the Institute, heaven knows where. We can't afford to let both of them – both of them sit out!" Zandred sputtered.

"Zandred – " Soraka looked to Taric, wide eyed.

"Soraka, I'll be fine." Ezreal smiled at her. His face was perfectly calm despite the lambent glow of his eyes. "I'll be careful. Ryland will help me. Won't you, Ryland?"

Ryland wrapped a protective arm around Ezreal's shoulders. "Trust me, Soraka. I'll make sure nothing happens to him."

Soraka looked to the other Supports. Taric and Sona shrugged, both looking wistful. At last, Soraka composed herself, her face becoming as tranquil and unreadable as a summer lake. "Very well, Ryland."

The Novices and Zandred resumed forming the groups of champions and assigning Supports. Soraka pulled Ryland aside, and leaned into him, speaking softly. "The Supports and I have given you all the training we have knowledge of. Regardless of what happens, we – all of us – firmly believe you have a place in the League of Legends."

Ryland squeezed her shoulder. "Soraka – I can't tell you how much that means to me. Thank you for everything."

Soraka nodded. She leaned closer. "It is your duty as a Support to make sure Ezreal comes back to this League alive. Remember – the Summoners are from different parts of Runeterra as well. Their faith in him is keeping them from attacking one another."

"If we lose Ezreal, the League might fall," Ryland whispered. His heart thudded painfully in his chest. "I love the League. I won't let it happen."

"We need peace. We all do."

"Soraka – do you really trust me?" For a moment, Ryland looked years younger than he actually was. Soraka saw the scared, hesitant child that Merilyn had abused, and fought to extinguish her sudden anger.

She embraced him, trying to fill him with all the years of a mother's love he'd missed out on. She knew it wasn't enough. It would never be enough. "I do more than trust you. I believe in you."

When Ryland pulled away at last, she pretended she didn't see the tiny tear tracing its way past his cheekbone to his chin.

* * *

Lux felt fear closing in on her, chilling her skin. Standing next to her, Katarina also looked grim.

"Ezreal's never had Overflow before," Lux whispered.

Kat grimaced. "As strong as he is? It hasn't happened?"

"This is the first time, apparently."

"That's not good." Katarina sighed. "I hope our group finds Zed."

"I have a feeling Zandred's trying to prevent us from being attacked again." Lux looked at the other members of her group. Besides Swain and Darius, who already appeared imposing enough, they were joined by Alistar and Morgana. Janna and Fiddlesticks had also been assigned to them, and the two of them were lightly chatting about how their ultimate abilities affected the one another.

Lux and Kat were heavily defended, compared to most groups, which were composed of three people. The Demacian forces had been split into two or three groups and augmented by other champions as well. The largest group was composed of the carries, who were standing in a circle around Taric, talking tactics.

Lux caught Garen's eye. While the Demacians couldn't communicate telepathically, she figured out the meaning behind his sorrowful gaze easily enough. _Lux…I'm sorry_.

She smiled at him._ I forgive you. Everyone makes mistakes_…she put as much mental energy behind sending the message as she could. She doubted it went through, but she meant it, all the same.

Ezreal and Ryland made their own group, joined by Soraka. Ezreal's eyes scanned the crowd until he found Lux. He beamed at her, and she felt a bit of the cold fear vanish beneath his summery smile.

Zandred clapped his hands to regain their attention. "Does everyone have their assignments?"

The champions grunted assent.

"Then I wish you the best of luck. You'll know if someone has been successful by the ringing of the Institute's main bells. Godspeed." Zandred bowed deeply as the champions began to shuffle out from the Central Fountain, and into the waiting night.


	28. Seek the Dark

The carries moved shoulder to shoulder, their gunslinger eyes struggling to pierce the gloom hanging over the Institute.

Graves did what he did whenever he was nervous – he spat on the ground. "Taric, where's that other Support?"

"Janna?" Taric's eyebrows rose. His gem armor was polished to a shine, reflecting every tiny piece of light that struck its plates.

"No, no, no. The one with the fans."

"Oh. Karma." Taric blew out a gusty breath. "I believe she and Master Yi have some, ah, unfinished business."

"What's up with Supports, anyways?" Miss Fortune asked, nibbling at the ends of her red hair. Her right revolver swung from forefinger to thumb and back again. "Doesn't it get boring, healing people all the time?"

"Doesn't it get boring, shooting people all the time?" Taric chuckled.

"Not a bit, sugar." Caitlyn grinned at the Support. "At least there's a challenge involved."

"Nothing is as challenging as keeping you men and women alive on the Rift."

Ashe huffed. "What's that supposed to mean?" Her bow hung by her side, but the tension in her muscles revealed how ready she was. And how nervous.

Trynadmere, Jayce and Vi composed another group, headed in the opposite direction. She'd gotten used to having Trynd's big, barbarian form hovering around her.

He made her feel safe.

"Just that the enemy team usually tries to kill you first. If they're smart." Taric sighed.

"Yeah," Graves growled. "And if they're not smart, we tear them apart."

* * *

"Tell me, Fate. Do those wolf-eyes let you see better in the dark?"

LeBlanc and her clone each held one of Twisted Fate's elbows. Nami swished behind them, trying to hide her disgust.

"I can see you just fine." Twisted Fate bent his head and kissed both LeBlancs, one after the other.

"Ugh," Nami muttered.

"What's wrong, Fishstick? Never had a real man to love?" Twisted Fate grinned wolfishly. "Though I'm not quite sure how'd that work, anyways. Given your mermaid status."

The fins on Nami's back stood up erect and flushed with embarrassment. "Are you going to find Zed or make out like a couple of teenagers all night?" she blustered.

"Both, preferably." LeBlanc laughed. "Let Zed come. I think he'd find Twisted Fate…stunning."

"I guess you can add making terrible puns to your list of plans." Nami rolled her eyes.

Beneath her sarcasm was fear, as deep and wide as her home – the ocean. _Please be safe_, she thought. Ryland's face appeared in her mind's eye, along with a black, creeping dread. She fought the sensation with incantations.

* * *

"Do you see anything?" Jayce called.

"Nada." Vi scowled, then punched a trash can in frustration. The helpless can flew from the road into the wall of a nearby building, falling to the ground in a sad-looking heap.

"Quit it! You're gonna scare him away." Jayce's face fell.

"You seem disappointed by not having a brush with death. I didn't realize you were such a thrillseeker." Tryndamere shrugged.

"Not everyone has to have a huge sword to be brave, Trynd." Jayce stood up straighter. "I'm not a coward."

"I never said you were a coward. People can be just as brave with…gun hammer laser things." Trynd wrinkled his nose. Vi laughed.

"So, what brings a little Demacian general to a group of people like us?" Sivir, the latest person to join the growing cluster of champions surrounding Lux, turned to her and grinned ,flashing white teeth.

* * *

As Lux's group made their way through the Institute of War, anyone who hadn't shown up to Zandred's meeting saw fit to join them. Thus far, they'd accrued several people, including Janna and Xin Zhao, Zyra, Zac and Diana.

Katarina saw the discomfort on Lux's face and stepped in. "Why aren't you with the carries, Sivir?"

"She's too good for them," Jax joked. Sivir punched him in the shoulder.

"Shut up. I do just as much damage as Lux's little blond servantboy."

The champions around them murmured excitedly.

Kog'Maw, who had fallen into step with them, tilted his head back and gargled a laugh. "Big talk, Battle Mistress. No. No one do as much damage as Ezreal. No even me!"

"I do." Pantheon flexed his muscles. Everyone laughed.

"No, everyone knows I do." Olaf juggled his axes as he walked. He dropped one and was greeted by hoots of merriment.

"Hey, Axe Boy. What was your winrate? Forty four percent?" Sivir's derisive laugh made Lux want to cover her ears.

"Why are we in a group of misfits?" Lux muttered to Katarina from the side of her mouth.

"I don't know," Kat whispered back. "But I'm sure we'll be safe. If Zed shows up, we'll tear him to pieces."

"Safety in numbers," Lux sighed. _Ezreal…If only you could join us as well._

* * *

_ People matter to other people. Beings matter to other beings. _

_The world is a vast, cold, dark tundra, where fellowship, love, humility and compassion are the dancing lights of the aurora. Come closer to them, child. _

_Let the lights embrace you as you embrace your brother._

- Ravin Grace, High Shaman of the Avarosan

Ezreal, Ryland and Soraka raced through the night. At first, Ezreal waited for Soraka to protest their speed. But she didn't.

The Support was surprisingly athletic once she tied her long priestess robes to one side, so her legs could move freely.

It felt good to run. Ezreal drank in the cool night air, feeling the beginnings of rain patter his face. The wind chilled the sweat on his skin, soothing his muscles irritated by continual electrical firing.

Ryland seemed to enjoy running, too. The cape of his Noxian uniform flapped behind him until he unhooked it and let it flutter to the ground. They gained speed, charging towards their assigned place – The Noxian Quarters.

_This must be what a shooting star feels like_, Ezreal thought. _On fire. And fast_.

He felt a murmur of agreement from Ryland. _Can you always hear me now?_

_Mostly. I'm enjoying it. I – _

Ryland tried to halt the thought with a force of will, but Ezreal's finely attuned mental senses heard it anyways. _I've never been this close to someone_.

"I think we can slow down now," Soraka gasped. "Look! The Noxian Quarters."

Ezreal and Ryland skidded to a halt. Soraka stood behind them, panting.

"What do we do now?" Ezreal looked around the courtyard, biting his lip.

"Well, since Zandred in his infinite wisdom assigned only three of us to a group, we'll have to split up." Soraka sighed, stood up and stretched her back. "Here." She fished around in her knapsack and pulled out two experimental electric torches from Piltover.

Ryland took one with a frown. Ezreal shook his head. "I've got my own light."

"I'm aware, Ezreal. I'm sure the entire Institute is well aware."

"So if we find Zed…" Ryland began.

"If you feel you can duel him, good. If not…" Soraka scanned the sky. "Shout. Find me. I have a flare. It'll bring Zandred running. Most likely, you won't find anything." But the Support didn't look too sure.

"We'll start looking," Ryland said solemnly. Ezreal nodded, releasing some of his pent-up power. The air around him filled with a soft summery glow.

"It's okay to do this, right, Soraka? To let some of it out?"

Soraka sighed. "The truth is, child, no one's really sure what to do about Overflow. But yes, I'd recommend not storing all of that energy in your body." She waved her hands. "Go. Go find him. The sooner this is over with, the better."

Ezreal turned away.

"Ezreal. Wait a second." Ryland pulled the Explorer close, holding him tight. His aura filled Ryland's body with warmth. "Be safe."

"Don't worry. I'll be fine." Ezreal backed away. "After this – dinner's on me, okay?"

"I'm holding you to that!" Ryland called. He began to jog to the backside of Noxus' massive quarters, his electric torchlight bobbing in front of him.

"All boys think about is food," he heard Soraka mutter. Then he was gone, alone in the growing rain.

* * *

_Something's not right_, Ezreal thought.

That was true of many things, actually.

Merilyn's plot against her son. Ryland bringing Lux back from death. Lux's dealing with Noxians. The latest problem was the waterfall of magic that filled his muscles – so much magic that it seeped from his pores like sweat.

_Overflow_, he thought. His ears were ringing. His muscles were shaking. It had felt so good to run because he didn't notice the shakes.

Because he wasn't aware of his racing thoughts.

But he was alone, wasn't he? Aloneness was his natural state.

There had been many nights like this one – misty, dark, and quiet save for the whirring of frogs and the chirping of crickets. Alone with nothing but a campfire to keep him company as he read or wrote something about artifacts.

_I'm not alone._

The thought zipped through Ezreal's head, leaving fear in its path. Fear that was cold and blue, that settled at the bottom of his spine like a pool of ice-cold water.

All at once he felt very exposed, naked and afraid.

He tilted his head to the right and Zed was there. Waiting.

There was a beat of silence.

"So, you've found me."

"I have." The aura hanging around him caught fire, growing brighter, revealing Zed entirely. Though he couldn't see his face, Ezreal thought Zed was impressed by the display.

"No matter what show you put on, you are weak." Zed moved slowly, hypnotically, into a fighting stance.

Ezreal readied his gauntlet.

And Zed disappeared.

"Huh?"

The assassin leapt silently onto his shoulders, almost knocking Ezreal to the ground. Ezreal readied himself.

As he watched, Zed split into three, surrounding him.

Thinking fast, Ezreal ran, trying to gain distance. His abilities worked better from far away. He heard Zed's clones whisper as they followed him. Their movements were almost entirely masked by the rain.

Twin globes of gold flew back, colliding with two of the clones. Zed let out a startled grunt, dipping back into the shadows.

Ezreal waited in the rain, panting harshly. He couldn't tell which was boiling through his blood harder - the adrenaline or his power. Both yearned for him to take action, to be freed from the constraints of his body.

Zed leapt for Ezreal's neck, blade outstretched. Ezreal Arcane Shifted, countering with a brilliant cloud of bolts.

He went on the offensive, launching attack after attack from his gauntlet. Zed dodged them all, sometimes with clones, sometimes without.

Ezreal didn't notice that each one of his attacks sent golden flames rippling across the surface of his glove, or that the sparks from his hair were beginning to burn, or that his aura had become so bright it had blinded him. He was fighting with his senses, not with sight.

Zed left a clone of himself in front of Ezreal to grapple with and flickered behind him. With a shout, he pinned the Explorer to the ground and aimed one of his blades at Ezreal's neck.

Ezreal's mind formed a single shout and sent it ricocheting into space.

_NO! _

Half a mile away, Katarina winced against Lux. Some of the empaths in the city outside the Institute raised their heads in confusion. The mages covered their ears. The Supports looked up from their charges and towards Ezreal.

And somewhere, in the depths of the Ionian Quarters, Shen readied himself. _I will not fail you this time, Father. _He placed his hands together and began channeling Stand United.

Smoke flew around Ezreal and Zed, choking them. Ezreal struggled against the assassin, kicking and biting. He threw Zed from him – the assassin couldn't hang on, as Ezreal's aura was starting to burn.

Ezreal's Mystic Shots battered Zed's ribs. He stepped back, but Ezreal advanced towards him. Zed saw no mercy in the depths of the Explorer's blue-gold eyes.

As Ezreal channeled his Trueshot, the lightning on his gauntlet intensified.

Time stopped for Zed. There was only one moment. His entire life – his training, his work – fled from him. He stared into Ezreal's eyes. He would always be staring into Ezreal's eyes.

Then several things happened at once.

The Trueshot shattered the sound barrier as it left Ezreal's glove.

The gem on his gauntlet shattered into a fountain of glass, winking against the sunflare that was Ezreal.

And the Overflow consumed Ezreal's body. It cracked his ribs and turned his heart into a lump of ash. His muscles turned to strings. He slumped over, his mouth open in surprise.

The last thought he had, before the all-consuming light finally went out, was of Lux's smile.

Zed's helmet fell to the ground with a clang, separated from his body.

Shen's channel stopped. Confusion clouded his mind until he realized that few things stopped his ultimate.

Death was one of them.

Somewhere, Ryland screamed.

* * *

_Embrace. Embrace your brother against the chill of night. _

- Ravin Grace, High Shaman of the Avarosan


	29. Interlude

Hello, readers! There will be one or two more chapters following this one, published very soon. Sorry to panic you. Hang on – we're almost there.

* * *

Ezreal opened his eyes.

Whiteness greeted him, vast and cold. It made his eyes burn.

There was rarely white in an Explorer's life – everything was covered with ancient dust or layers of grime. It unsettled him.

_This must be what Lux saw…though I doubt this is a close encounter_. He swiveled his head from side to side. Nothing but white. _This can't be a close encounter. Especially not after…the Overflow. _His skin tingled with an echo of the power that shorted out his body's neurocircuitry, turned his brain to dust, paralyzed his muscles eternally.

It wasn't Zed.

It turned out that the greatest enemy of the Explorer had been himself.

His magic had slipped his control entirely, destroying the fragile vessel it was housed in. His body had done its best, but the elemental energy burst through its housing all the same.

"This is sort of disappointing," he said aloud, trying his voice. It was muffled, as if he were talking into a pillow. "Though I guess not really that bad. I did make it to the League. I got to be a celebrity for a couple days. I got to meet…Lux."

_She's going to be alone now. Lux, I'm so sorry. _

Tears leaked from his eyes, as cold as frost. It was so cold here.

Sadness overwhelmed him, pouring into his throat. His jaw clenched, but he couldn't stop the sharp sound of grief emanating from him. He fell to the ground, sobbing. "Lux, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry –"

Silence.

_Ezreal? Is that you?_

Ezreal kept his eyes closed. He wondered if he were experiencing déjà vu – those were the words that had greeted him when he'd first appeared at the Institute.

_Ezreal? Open your eyes. _

A warm hand pressed itself against his forehead. Ezreal flinched backwards. _Ezreal? Look at me._

_ I don't want to. Go away. Leave me alone!_

The voice paused in contemplation._ I'd known you were going to be here eventually, but so soon? What's happened? Is it really your time?_

"I said leave me –" Ezreal opened his eyes, only to find a pair that mirrored his staring down at him.

Ezreal sat up quickly. The stranger stepped back.

"What?"

The stranger was far taller than him, and broader in the shoulders. He wore his hair more closely cropped, and had blonde stubble lining his chin. Seeing Ezreal's shock, he stepped back, holding both hands up in a defensive posture. _I'm sorry we have meet like this._

_ Who are you? Why do you look like me? _Ezreal backed away slowly, eyes never leaving the stranger's.

_It's a shame you don't even recognize me. _The stranger half-smiled wistfully, and Ezreal saw a trace of himself. _I'm your dad._

_ No. _Ezreal shook his head in negation. _No, no, no. Please_.

_You didn't want to meet me?_ The stranger's eyes darkened with sadness. Ezreal felt a brief pang of hurt in his chest, but shoved it away.

_No! It's not that. It's just…_

_ It wasn't your time. I understand. I know all about that._

* * *

Ryland turned to sprint towards Ezreal, but Soraka was by his side in a flash, holding him back with a surprisingly fierce grip. In the scant light from her torch, her silver hair was wild.

"Ryland, no! You can't do it! He's gone!"

"He can't be!" Ryland broke her grasp, stumbling backwards, tears staining his face. "I won't let it be!"

"It's not like with Lux!" Soraka shouted. She stood to her full height, grabbed his shoulders and shook him. "You won't come back this time!"

Ryland took a deep, shuddering breath. "Maybe that's for the best. If he's gone - the League..." He took another deep breath and squared his shoulders. "There'd be no reason to be alive."

Soraka's closed her eyes. She said quietly, "You were my best student, Ryland. You were a good man."

"That – that means more than you would ever imagine." He hugged her briefly. "Give Katarina my – my love." His tongue tripped over the unfamiliar word. "Tell her we'll be together again. Someday."

Soraka nodded. As she watched Ryland's form disappear again, she felt her heart break. And not all of the incantations in the world could stop it.


	30. Walk With Me

"Walk with me, son." The Explorer's father took him by the arm and led him a few steps. The whiteness dissolved, as if fog, revealing a dense, vibrant jungle. Ezreal looked around, drinking in the emerald leaves and sapphire sky. The sound of exotic birds, of frogs and crickets, was melodious after the quiet of the white. Ezreal cocked his head. He could even hear a waterfall splashing in the distance.

"This…it's beautiful."

Ezreal's father nodded. Ezreal took in his baggy, tan pants, his brown muscle shirt spotted with sweat. His hair was a dirtier blonde than his own, and the planes of his face were much harder, chiseled, masculine.

_Graves would like him more than me_…

"There's just as much to explore in the afterlife as there is in real life. But…I really didn't think it was your time." Ezreal's father knelt before him and took him by the shoulders. "How did you die?"

Ezreal swallowed hard, his throat seizing. His mind flooded with images of the Noxian battlefield. Dead. Like all of those soldiers. His body would start rotting. He would become dust. He opened his mouth to say something, but all that escaped him was a whisper.

Seeing tears in his eyes, Ezreal's father pulled him closer. His scent was redolent with sweat. "Shhh. It's okay."

"Overflow," Ezreal whispered. "I died of Overflow."

His father's muscles stiffened. He pulled away, gazing into Ezreal's face. "Was it intentional?"

"Killing myself?" Ezreal shook his head. "No. I didn't want to die."

"Better than me." Ezreal's father sighed through his nose. A butterfly – the largest Ezreal had ever seen – landed on his shoulder. It fluttered its ruby-toned wings. Ezreal's father brushed it away, deep in thought. "A long time ago, shortly after you were born, I decided to experiment with my powers. I was gifted with magic, but had never used it to fight or harm people."

Ezreal grew very still. The idea that his father, too, had had magical powers never occurred to him. Neither had the idea of him dying from them.

"So, in order to further my academic studies, I channeled my powers, got the magic flowing as strongly as it would. So much so that my body and spirit are still suffused with magic."

Ezreal's father walked a few more steps. Behind some bushes lie the remains of a campfire, along with two stools hollowed from stumps. Ezreal followed him, taking the seat opposite him.

"I caused a massive hurricane with my Overflow. Piltover never forgot it, even if they never talk about it."

Ezreal flinched. "You – you were Ian?" He recalled reading in a book called _Feats of Unreplicable Magic_, by the Noxian historian Casteel White. The page on Ian had been short, dismissive. _After summoning a storm – the largest of its kind ever recorded – Ian of Piltover perished. No one since has tried to match the storm in size._ "Why…why didn't I know this?"

Ian sighed. "Your mother never forgave me for what she saw as basically suicide. She thought I'd killed myself intentionally. And my will…my will was that you go straight into academic training with no mention of your father."

"But why?" Ezreal's face hardened in anger. His blue eyes flashed. "Why wasn't I supposed to know you?"

"I was scared you might try it." Ian rocked back on his heels. "God, you look like your mother. Look." Ian put two fingers to Ezreal's lips, tracing their curve. "You have the cupid's bow – your lips are soft, like hers. And your eyes when you squint – just like Liliana. Your chin, too."

Ezreal swatted his father's hand away. "I knew my mother's name but nothing else. Every time I told Ryland, 'It doesn't matter who your parents are'…every time I told him that, it's because that's all I've heard." He turned his back on Ian, infuriated. "My mentor in Piltover would never answer my questions. No one would. I grew up thinking – no, hoping – that parents didn't matter because I _never had any_."

"Liliana wouldn't have it any other way. She wanted you to start over." Ian grew solemn. "She never forgave me, Ezreal. She died of heartbreak. That's why she still hasn't joined me, here, on the other side. Not even in death could she forgive me."

"I don't blame her," Ezreal murmured.

"You died of Overflow, too."

Ezreal whirled. "It's different! I wasn't doing some stupid science experiment. I was protecting the people I love!"

"How? Tell me." Ian half-smiled, but his eyes remained sad. "It's not like we're in any hurry."

Ezreal opened his mouth to argue, but snapped it shut.

"Ezreal? Where are you?" The call came from deep within the forest, faint and haunted. _Like a ghost. Like me, I guess._

Ian's eyes slanted, growing watchful. "Who is that? Did someone die with you?"

"I hope not. Listen." Ezreal and Ian waited, heads cocked in mirror gestures.

"Ezreal? Oh God, why did this happen. I have to find him."

Ezreal jumped to his feet and cupped his hands around his mouth. "Ryland! Over here!"

A few birds around him took off in a loud flutter of wings. His echo bounced back, mocking him.

Moments later, Ryland staggered out of the brush, leaves in his hair, gray-green eyes wild. His immaculate Noxian uniform had been snagged and snarled by thorns.

He charged towards Ezreal and embraced him, lifting his boots from the grassy ground. "Ezreal. I was looking for you. You have to go."

Ezreal could hear the thudding of Ryland's heart through the Noxian breastpiece. His own chest hitched. His throat burned. "But how?"

"I'm giving myself up for you. I'm going to give you my power."

"Ryland, you can't!"

"Do you want the League to fall apart?"

Ezreal broke away, staggering back. "You'll have to stay here! I can't –"

"I –" Ryland's brow furrowed as realization struck him. Ezreal bowed his head in silence, oblivious to the confusion on his father's face. "I just realized how much I'm going to miss you," Ryland said at last, dazed. He raised his eyes to Ezreal's, looking for comfort. "We're going to be worlds apart. And I wasn't even thinking. I won't even get to watch you play anymore."

Ezreal couldn't stem the flow of tears. "Ryland – what about Katarina? I'm dead. Just – just let it go." He took a shuddering breath.

"What about Lux?" Ryland countered. His stormy eyes sought Ezreal. "Ezreal, what about the Institute? What about all of Valoran?"

"What's going on here?" Ian broke in. "Who is this guy?"

"Dad, this is Ryland. He's my –" _Well, what is he exactly? Roommate? Gym buddy? Best friend? Wingman?_ "- my guardian," Ezreal finished. "He's my Support."

Ian squinted, examining Ryland. Sensing his scrutiny, Ryland bowed. "It's an honor to meet you, sir."

"Much obliged," Ian drawled. Ezreal noted that his father still had a Piltover accent, something Ezreal had abandoned long ago. "So, let me get this straight. You'd give your life for my son's?"

"Without hesitation. Well, without much hesitation, anyways." Ryland sighed, looking defeated. "In fact, I should probably begin the transfer soon."

Ezreal remained silent. He knew he didn't want Ryland to give his life…but a deeper part of him wanted to live. To be with Lux, at the League. To be the hopes and dreams of the Summoners. _I guess I really am selfish. _

Ryland caught the tail-end of his thought. _It's not selfish, wanting to be alive. Everyone wants to be. _

Ian rubbed at his chin. Ezreal sensed him thinking something over, then reaching a decision.

Ian looked around the forest vista one last time, drinking it in. "I'll miss this place," he muttered.

Ezreal blinked. "What do you mean?"

"When I died, I used the energy I still had to make this in-between place. I have a feeling your friend knows that this isn't the real afterlife. It's more of a…waiting room. A beautiful waiting room, but a waiting room nonetheless." Ian frowned. "I think it's time for me to move on. If I use the energy I invested in this place, your friend wouldn't have to give his whole life force."

Ezreal took a deep breath. "Ian – Dad – would you really do that? You – you don't even know me."

"Oh, Ezreal. I've loved you since before you were born. Back when you were just a bump in your momma's belly." The plants, the sky, the leaves all began to dissolve, to break apart into cerulean blue sparks, echoes of Ezreal's golden ones. Ezreal watched as Ryland's silver aura joined the blue, melding with it. "If I do this, maybe your mom'll forgive me at last."

Ryland took Ian's hand in his, and kissed it. Ezreal did the same thing after a moment. "Thank you for your sacrifice, Ian of Piltover."

Ian fixed Ryland with a grin. The edges of his face were beginning to break down as well, to join the aquamarine tides of magic. The strands of blue began to caress Ezreal's face. They sank into his skin, knitting his muscles back together. His body began to heal.

He felt his heart begin to beat again, somewhere far away.

"Liliana always wanted two sons," Ian said. His voice lost volume even as he spoke. "I think she'd be real proud of you, if you were the older one. Ezreal's older brother."

The last Ezreal saw of his father, before he vanished entirely, was his smile.

"Ryland, I think Liliana would've loved you. I know I do. I love you, Ezreal."

Ezreal whispered, "I love you, too."

Then the world was gone in a cresting tide of soaring blue and silver light.


	31. At Last

The whispering rain had long ago melted together with the tears on Soraka's cheeks. Both were equally cold.

She found herself moving instinctively to where Ezreal and Ryland lie, embraced on the sodden ground.

Behind her, she heard the frantic steps of other champions, Supports who had heard Ezreal's mental shout. Or they'd felt Ryland's depth-charged terror crash over them like a wave.

"This way!" she heard Katarina call, farther away. Ahead of her, three slumped forms came into view. Soraka's breath caught. Even with only the guttering street lamp and the silent heat lightning, she could tell none of them were moving.

She sank to her knees, silvery hair soaked by mingled tears and rain. Her hand was pressed to her mouth to stifle her sorrow - not only for her pupil and the Explorer, but in anticipation of the tears that would follow in their deaths' wake.

* * *

"Sir!" Garen's voice rang throughout Central Fountain, where the clusters of Summoners were waiting. They came alert at an instant, drawing swords and knives. "Sir, Zed has been apprehended."

Darrigan pursed his lips. "That's wonderful. We should celebrate!"

"Sir, wait! Your wife! Merilyn! She issued the attacks!" Garen's eyes blazed. "She instigated them! She was working with him!"

Darrigan felt a cold, watery sensation in his belly. Might Michael, his wayward son, lie about his mother's involvement? Yes.

But would Garen? Would Jarvan and Shyvana, who had also appeared?

After seeing the panic on everyone's face - after feeling the bones of the Institute groan under the weight of chaos - was there really any other choice?

"We have to find her, then," Darrigan said simply. "Crimes against the Institute can't go unpunished." He started towards the door, followed by the Summoners and the Demacians.

* * *

Soraka felt a hand on her shoulder. Taric.

_Soraka, be strong. You have to be. We need you. _

_I loved him like a child, Taric. I know we aren't supposed to have favorites, but he was mine. _

_He would have been broken, without Ezreal._

_It looks like Ezreal is gone, too._

Taric squinted. Soraka felt his mute surprise.

Beside her, Soraka heard Katarina cry out in anguish. She, too, collapsed.

_The power of death can move even an assassin to her knees. Interesting_, Soraka thought.

She stood up, brushing the dust from her long, celestial gown. When Katarina tried to charge towards the bodies, she and Taric held her arms, murmuring comfort into her ear.

Other champions arrived, standing in a semicircle around the bodies. Nearby, Lux's lips quivered continually. She prayed desperately that the energy exchange would work. Nami put an arm around her shoulders, holding her tight.

Ashe turned her head away, seeking Tryndamere. Miss Fortune's face was pale with rain and shock. LeBlanc leaned her head against Twisted Fate's chest, and the Cardmaster held her closer, wrapping his cape around her slim form.

Even Graves bowed his head.

"Look!" Soraka murmured. She pointed to Ezreal's body. "Do you see it? It's Ryland's energy." Katarina sobbed silently into her chest, harder.

The other champions were transfixed by the tiny, wavering flames of silver flickering over Ezreal's body. The light bounced off the raindrops, illuminating them, growing so bright that Ezreal's face could be clearly seen.

Some of the champions gasped. Soraka closed her eyes, trying to send comfort to Ryland in his last few moments. _I know you felt unloved, but you were loved, Ryland. Forever and always._

"Soraka. What is that?" Soraka rubbed the tears from her amber eyes and looked.

"No. _Who_ is that?"

Blue light had joined the silver. It seemed more playful than Ryland's magic, hopping from Ezreal to Ryland and back again. It gradually enveloped both of them in a cerulean, ocean-tinted embrace. Then it surged in power, blazing against the rainy night.

An aurora appeared overhead.

"Ahhhhh," Lulu said, the light reflecting wonder on her childish face. The carries tilted their faces skyward. The misfits, who had followed Lux, stretched out their arms, as if expecting the aurora to touch them.

Soraka shook Katarina gently. "Look, child. Look."

Katarina opened her tear-filled eyes and gasped. "What is that? Is that Ryland?"

"Taric, do you know who has Pulsefire power?"

Taric shook his head. "No one anymore...unless Ezreal found a friend elsewhere."

Soraka nodded. "Perhaps he has."

The aurora stretched, expanded, filling then entire sky above the Institute. Ezreal and Ryland's bodies fed the aurora energy, their twinkling auras sending threads into the massive light show. After a few minutes, Ezreal's power showed itself as a sparkling border of gold, edging the blue-and-silver curtain, joining with Ryland and his father's song.

Through the aurora's light, Ezreal's healing became visible. His gray skin took on a more rosy hue. His charred hair became whole and golden again.

Then he and Ryland, together, opened their eyes.

The silent crowd burst into chaos again as a thunderous cheer went up and everyone rushed towards them at once.

"Don't move! They need air!" Soraka called. She and Taric, followed by Lux and Katarina ran to them, fell to their knees. "You check Ezreal." Soraka's hands roved over Ryland, feeling for vital signs, searching for life energy. She felt his heart tremble beneath her hands. "Ryland, can you hear me?"

"Yes," he said weakly. "Oh, yes." He closed his eyes.

Soraka slapped him as gently as she could. "Stay with me! You've still given up a lot of energy."

Katarina appeared by her side, silent as a shadow. Before Soraka could stop her, she bent down and pressed her lips firmly against Ryland's. He shuddered, then reached up, buried a hand in her hair and pulled her down for more.

Soraka sat back with a wry smile. "I guess all the medicine in the world can't match a pretty lady."

Taric and Lux checked Ezreal as well. "Do you feel anything, Lux?"

"I just felt his stomach growl. Does that count?"

"Hmmm. I don't - wait! There it is!" Taric leaned close to Ezreal's chest. The Explorer's heart was beating again. "He's alive! Soraka, they're both alive!"

"But how?"

"I don't know, but they are. We need to get them to shelter." Taric chose the first person his eyes settled on. "Graves! We need someone strong. Can you carry Ezreal to the Supports' Quarters?"

The carries looked to Graves.

Graves squared his shoulders. "I damn well can. That little kid's a fighter." So saying, he lifted Ezreal into his arms as gently as he could. "Up we go, kiddo. That's what Lulu says."

"Follow them, Nami and Lulu. Make sure he's comfortable." The Yordle and Tidecaller nodded, darting after Graves. Lux set off too, chasing them.

Darius pushed through the crowd and towered over his son.

"It takes us a little while to get here. We're both getting old," Swain said.

"I'll take him," Darius rumbled.

Soraka nodded mutely. "Taric and I will follow."

"So will I." Kat stood up, brushing the dirt from her knees. "I knew you'd come through, Ryland."

Ryland's lips moved silently. He couldn't speak.

"I think he's saying, 'Good,' Katarina." Soraka shrugged, barely able to contain her excitement. "Let's go get our boys healed."

Darius cradled his son for the second time in his beefy arms. "I don't know where you got this fighting spirit from, Ryland, but I don't think it's from me."

Ryland opened his eyes briefly and gave Darius a weak smile. Darius returned it, pretending the water on his face was merely rain.

Overhead, the aurora continued to dance. The silver and gold faded from it, leaving only the blue river of light.

* * *

_Embrace your brother, your father, your son. Embrace your lover against the night._

- Ravin Grace, High Shaman of the Avarosan

* * *

Ryland and Ezreal slept, shoulder to shoulder, for three days.

Ezreal's dreams were troubled. Over and over again, he relived finding the gem - the gem that sat on his gauntlet for months. No, years. And again and again he saw it explode in a fountain of light.

He relived being trapped in an underground tunnel. Studying in Piltover for nights and days.

Only there was a key alteration in his memories.

Instead of being alone, someone was there with him. When he found the gem, when he got trapped in the tunnel. When he skirted the Noxian battlefield, looking for history in the making.

There was always Ryland smiling at him, or Lux hugging him, or Katarina, or Soraka, or even Zandred. Someone to share his experiences with.

He wasn't alone.

Ryland's dreams were different. He saw Merilyn and Darius raising him in some distant country outside of Noxus. Instead of armor, Darius wore traditional farmer's garb - faded denim pants, a plaid shirt open at the neck. Merilyn made sweet biscuits and lemonade, and kissed him on the cheek when he came inside from mowing the grass.

In these dreams, Merilyn never dyed her hair. It fell to the small of her back in thick, dark loops. She could be proud of her Noxian heritage, even though she was a bastard child, between her mother and a Noxian General. Like mother, like daughter.

In these dreams, she kissed the scrapes that Ryland got while working around the farm. She hugged him, sometimes. She made his favorite meals.

And every night, around a blazing hearth fire, Merilyn read Ryland stories about the Noxian knight who'd given him his name. _The Adventures of Ryland._ He knew (in the dreams) that one day he wanted to grow up big and strong, to protect people.

Maybe that was why he loved Ezreal like a little brother. Because, even though the Explorer was strong, he needed someone to protect him.

So they slept side by side, and sometimes they dreamt together.

They dreamt that they were in the League, in bottom lane, fighting Vayne and Taric, Lulu and Draven, Thresh and Caitlyn, Ashe and Volibear. Side by side, dominating them.

And so they slept, and dreamed.

* * *

When Darrigan burst into Merilyn's bedroom, followed by the Demacians and armed Summoners, he found Merilyn's body swinging side to side on a beam overhead.

Overwhelmed, Darrigan stepped down from his position as Venerable Summoner at that moment. He confessed on the spot that Ryland wasn't his child, that he had tried to love him but had known he was Noxian all along.

Zandred replaced him. The other Summoners unanimously voted him in, saying that he'd been doing the Venerable Summoner's job for a long time, anyways.

Given Zandred's origins from Zaun, any discrimination against the Noxians would stop at last. The Summoners and champions were pleased that the Noxian/Demacian conflict would no longer affect the upper echelons of the League.

Zandred promoted Erinae to his second in command, making her the fastest-rising Summoner in the League. There were whispers that, in the Summoner's Cup this year, she would reach the Challenger Division. Jatt and Turley shed their Novice robes for official Summoner ones.

The day before Ezreal and Ryland awoke, a dual cremation ceremony for Merilyn and Zed was held. The only two in attendance were Darrigan and Darius, who stood on opposite ends of the large chamber, wordlessly watching the flames. Afterwards, Swain took Darius out for a strong drink, and Darrigan left the League.

The Summoner's Rift matches resumed. Without Ezreal, Graves and Draven were allowed to shine. Miss Fortune and Caitlyn also made quite a few appearances. They strove together, fighting as hard as they could.

Talk began circulating through the Summoners that Ezreal perhaps wasn't the only good carry. After all, Draven did quite a bit of damage, and Miss Fortune's Double Up was fun to use. Caitlyn's range outpaced Ezreal's as well.

And of course, Graves did well throughout the entire match. Perhaps he would be a rival when Ezreal rejoined the League.

Perhaps he was stronger.

* * *

Ezreal sat up and yawned, blinking blearily into the sun. It was covered by clouds, but still the brightest thing he'd seen in a while.

Then Ez jolted fully awake. "I'm alive?"

"I think so." Ryland leaned on his shoulders, cracking his back. His skin, though pale, looked healthier than usual. "Am I alive?"

"Ryland. You did it again." Ezreal's eyes sparkled with happiness. "I can't believe it! You saved me again. You're so strong!"

Ryland cracked open one eye. "Do you remember what happened when you died?"

"No. I - I don't remember anything." Ezreal frowned. "Do you?"

"Yeah." Ryland leaned back and sighed. "I'll tell you at some point. Not right now."

"That's probably for the best." Ezreal stood up, stretching his muscles. "Hey, the Overflow's gone. Actually - I can barely feel my magic powers at all."

"Does that make you sad?"

Ezreal shrugged. "Not really."

Soraka and Taric knocked on the door, and opened it. Soraka's smile covered her whole face. "You're awake! My boys are awake!" She hugged Ryland first, then Ezreal. Taric beamed.

"I'm glad you made it."

"What's going on, 'Raka? How long have I been out?"

"Quite a while, but that's no matter. I need to inform Zandred."

"Not Darrigan?" Ryland cocked his head.

Soraka's smile faltered a little bit. "We'll tell you all about what happened in a bit. We have some business to attend to. But listen - Ezreal. Ryland." She shook her finger at them. "Don't do anything that gets your heart rate up, that makes you excited. Alright?"

Ezreal blinked, confused. "Uh...Alright. We'll try not to."

Taric murmured something to Soraka. "Oh," she said. "But don't get too bored, either."

"What?"

"We're worried about Overflow," Taric blurted. "We still don't know what caused it, and we need you to be careful."

Ezreal shrank back. Ryland put a warm, comforting arm around his bare shoulders. "I'll take care of him."

"I know you will," Soraka sighed. "We all do."

"Anyways," Taric cut in. "We'll be back shortly with a few extra visitors. Alright?"

Ezreal nodded. " Before you guys go - can we see Lux and Kat?"

Taric and Soraka exchanged glances. "Yes, but remember. Nothing that gets the heart racing. You know what I mean," Soraka added.

Ezreal laughed, leaning against Ryland. It was hard not to be glad, to see the happiness playing across his golden features, like an aurora against a night sky...

Soraka and Taric departed, smiling, gesturing at Lux and Kat to join Ryland and Ezreal. The two girls had held vigil outside of their room for the three days, having set up cots.

"Be careful of heart rate," Taric whispered. They nodded, eyes glowing, and walked as calmly as they could to the boys' bedroom. The cries of greeting rang throughout the lobby of the Supports' Quarters, as they exchanged embraces and kisses.

Half an hour later, Zandred visited the boys, shaking their hands. Lux and Kat had already explained Merilyn's death. Ryland took it in stride, wincing when he heard that Darrigan had left the League. "Darius is still here, right?"

"Yes," Zandred said with a smile. Then he broke the good news to Ryland. The Supports readied themselves, in case of Overflow. But all that happened was Ryland's eyes widening, his smile growing even broader.

"I'm joining the League?"

"As soon as we get a few more details worked out, yes," Zandred said with great satisfaction. "In fact, if the two of you feel up to it, there will be a ball and reception tonight in your honor. Both for joining the League, and for your courageous efforts in saving other champions."

Ryland nearly crushed Katarina, Ezreal and Lux in one embrace.

"I can handle it," Ezreal said. His blue eyes were shining, but only with happiness and not with magic.

Ryland nodded fiercely. "I'm ready. I've been ready."

"We've been dreaming of it," Ezreal added. His blond hair was mussed by the repeated hugs. Lux kissed him on the cheek.

"One other thing, Ezreal, prior to the reception," Zandred added. "Come with me."

Zandred led the still-shirtless Ezreal to a group of waiting Summoners and a few inventors from Piltover. The inventors said their regular "howdy's," and went straight to work, attaching some of their homemade instruments to Ezreal's chest and temples. One of them whistled to the other. "The reading on you is incredible, boy."

"Still?" Ezreal frowned. "I can't even feel my magic."

"Haven't you ever heard of Tides? After a flow like you're not gonna feel anything for a couple days."

"That's not the only weird thing I'm seeing," said another inventor. This one was tall, very tall, had sandy-brown hair and a shirt stained with grease. "Jor, are you seeing this? The readout?"

The smaller, fatter inventor looked at the dial affixed to Ezreal's chest. He rubbed his eyes and squinted again. "Boy, what kind of powers do you have?"

"What kind?" Ezreal echoed, feeling stupid.

"What color," the taller inventor added helpfully. His smile was friendly, somehow familiar. Ezreal smiled back.

"It's usually golden yellow."

"Mmmkay," said the shorter one. "So Standard stuff."

"Standard? I thought my powers were extraordinary." Ezreal sighed. "There goes feeling special, I guess."

"Let me explain. There are a lot of forms of energy - what you guys call magic. But there are three main ones: Standard Gold, which deals with light. Empath Silver, which deals with the body cells, like neurons and stuff like that. And Pulsefire, which deals with weather. Ions." Mel scratched his chin. "Your strength is extraordinary, but Standard power itself is common." The tall one ruffled Ezreal's hair. "Your brain power is extraordinary too, by the way. I'm a big fan of your book on Katamundu artifacts."

"Thanks." Ezreal beamed.

"Doesn't explain the readout down here, Mel," a third guy muttered.

"Let me take a look-see," tall Mel said. "Oh my gracious. It looks like you might not just have Standard power after all. This readout's picking up traces of Empath, and a whole bunch of Pulsefire."

"Pulsefire?"

"Totally different animal from Standard. Isn't it, Jor and Jeff?"

Jor and Jeff nodded, looking serious.

"A long time ago," Mel continued, "There was someone who had Pulsefire energy. He used it and made a hurricane. Lasted a month. How about that, huh?"

Something triggered on Ezreal's mind, tickling the back of his skull. "What can Pulsefire do?"

"All sorts of stuff. It's usually blue. You see, instead of photons - light - like Standard power, Pulsefire's in tune with ions. So weather. Clouds. Tornados. Blizzards. Auroras." Mel cocked his head. "Don't you worry, champ. We're gonna get you a new suit that can control that Pulsefire energy you have. Help channel it."

"It should look pretty fancy, too," Jor added, seeing the crestfallen look on Ezreal's face.

"I promise I'll make it look cool," said Jeff. "When you have that much power, you have to channel it correctly."

"Thanks so much," Zandred said brightly, stepping forward and shaking the engineers' hands. "Until then, Ezreal, I'm afraid you have to stay off the Rift."

"Now that Ryland's a champion?" Ezreal sighed. "That's how it always works out, isn't it?

Mel impulsively squeezed Ezreal's shoulder. "Don't worry, champ. You'll be out there in no time."

* * *

That night, the entire Institute showed up to Ryland's reception at Central Fountain. The brightly lit lights, laughter and food all combated the storm that continued to hang over the Institute. The lightning, when it showed itself, was an odd cobalt blue.

Darius had been the person to hang the large, gold medallion around Ryland's neck. For honor and bravery. Father and son had embraced to the roaring applause of the crowd.

Ezreal looked down at the party from the second level of Central Fountain. He saw Ryland whirl Katarina around the dance floor, smiling. The assassin wore a deep maroon dress that brushed the floor. It complimented Ryland's uniform.

His Rift costume still resembled that of a Noxian knight's, but it had been scaled back a bit. Now, gold bits illuminated the chestpiece and shoulders, speaking to both his Noxian and Demacian heritage. Katarina's long, silky red hair was topped by a small black tiara.

_She looks like a princess_, Ezreal thought. _He still looks like a knight_.

The two of them had never appeared so happy. The darkness - the sadness and loneliness - that had haunted Ryland's face was banished.

Ezreal leaned against the partition, looking down into the crowd. There was Graves and Caitlyn, doing a two-step. LeBlanc and Twisted Fate performing a tango, their bright red clothes shining beneath the lights. And Master Yi and Karma, also watching the spectacle, standing quietly arm-in-arm.

Ashe and Tryndamere. Jarvan and Shyvana.

Ezreal sighed. _I guess I'm alone._

He heard someone clear their throat behind him.

Lux.

Her floor-length navy gown took his breath away. The gold-and-diamond earrings accented her delicate neck. Her pink lips trembled. "I've been looking for you," she whispered, nearing him.

He said nothing, taking her into his arms, kissing her again and again, feeling her heat reach into him, blaze over him like the sun. As his lips found her neck, she sighed. "Ezreal, I love you."

"I love you, too." Their eyes met, deep cerulean to sky-blue.

He heard Zandred. "Oh, Soraka, I knew we shouldn't have interrupted."

"It has to be done, Zandred. Ezreal?"

Ezreal looked over Lux's shoulder at the Venerable Summoner and the Lead Support. Soraka's dove-soft, silver dress represented her empathic powers.

"What's wrong?" Ezreal asked. Lux withdrew from him a bit.

Zandred sighed harshly. "Soraka's right. You have a right to know. Do as you wish, my lady."

Soraka nodded. She turned to the Explorer. "Ezreal...do you remember why you can to the League in the first place?"

"I was randomly summoned, over and over again, until I thought I might as well stay at the Institute."

"But you never knew why you were summoned, did you, Ezreal?" Soraka stepped towards him.

"No, I never did." Ezreal blinked as realization crashed over him. "I - I heard you tell Merilyn that you'd tell me the secret of why I was summoned if she wasn't nicer to me. You know why I was summoned?"

"I do. The gem - the one that exploded with the Overflow - was attuned to summoning magic. That's why."

"Oh." Ezreal waited. Soraka breathed deeply.

"Now that the gem is gone..."

"We can't summon you against your will anymore," Zandred cut in. "You're free, Ezreal. You can leave, and we can't stop you. The choice is yours to make."

Ezreal closed his eyes.

The vast expanses of wilderness. The lonely tundra. The battlefields, the forests.

The joy of exploring came back to him in a sweet rush, of finding hidden coves and ancient treasures.

To be alone. The only voice he would hear would be his own.

That's how it had been for so many years.

He opened his eyes and looked at Lux. Her crystal-blue eyes were trembling with tears. Soraka and Zandred looked to him, waiting for a response.

Ezreal looked down at the League below him. The champions and the Summoners. Ryland and Katarina, dancing, oblivious to the choice he had to make.

He embraced Lux once more. The choice was already made.

Ezreal was home. At last.

_The End_


	32. Author's Note

**EDIT: I've begun work on the sequel! s/9535147/1/Ezreal-A-True-Champion**

Hello one last time, dear readers.

Congratulations! You've done it. You've reached the end of this massive story.

It's the first work of fiction I've ever successfully (more or less) completed. It spans over two-hundred pages in Microsoft Word - and that's with a tiny font.

Without the guidance of my readers, this story would've taken many, many wrong turns. Ezreal wouldn't have ended up with Lux, nor Michael with Katarina. Michael would have never taken the name Ryland, nor realized his Noxian origins. Zed's motives would have remained a mystery - they still are, in part - and Ian would've never seen his son.

So, to the readers who helped me mold this narrative: I owe you an immense debt.

And, without the readers who took time to write encouraging words, this story would still be a paltry Notepad document, leering at me from my computer's desktop. From time to time I would've gotten the itch to write, but I would have never acted on it without all your positive reviews.

A few of you have praised my skills, but it was mostly you, the readers, to whom this story owes its shape.

* * *

There are a few more things I'd like to add.

My name on League of Legends is the same as my nom de plume on - _vOceanic_. I welcome friend requests and would love to play ARAM alongside some Ezreals, Luxes and Katarinas.

Many of you have expressed the urge for a sequel or another work. Right now, I have a few ideas that I need help choosing from. If you see an idea you like - or if you have a champion or pairing you'd like to see - please let me know in the reviews or through a PM.

The ideas I have as of now are as follows:

**Noxus: Origins of Night**

When Noxian forces collide with an Ionian village, General Du Couteau is enchanted by a fae sorceress, an immigrant from the mysterious sands of Shurimana. After taking Vera as prisoner, she gives birth to two daughters. Both are gifted with beauty and tremendous power.

(This large, multipart story would trace Katarina's background. It would also explore the evolution of Noxian forces - Riven, Cassiopeia, Talon, Darius and Swain).

**Dark Frost**

This story would explore the politics and combat at the heart of Freljord. Noxus would seek to become a uniting force for the Freljord. Ashe is tempted to take the Noxians' offer, and is displeased with her political marriage to Tryndamere.

Ashe and Darius would be a potential pairing.

* * *

Thus concludes _Ezreal: Home at Last_ entirely. I hope you enjoyed it.

Best Wishes,

vOceanic


End file.
